


This Never Happened Before

by hardlyfatal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Lake House (2006)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Magic, Magic Mailbox, Mutual Pining, Pining, The Lake House - Freeform, Time Travel, don't think too hard about this stuff folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: A magic mailbox and enchanted dog cause two lonely people, separated by time, to communicate and fall in love. An adaptation of the film "The Lake House".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsbestosMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsbestosMouth/gifts), [dawntreader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawntreader/gifts).



> There are so many people eager to tear others down, cause dissent, encourage negativity, and basically be destructive forces within a fandom or a pairing. 
> 
> Then there are those like AsbestosMouth, DawnTreader, and OhFairchild who are not only incredibly talented in their own rights, but also superlative people: kind, supportive, generous, helpful, funny, passionate, and loyal. I can't begin to express how much you three mean to me, and how I value our daily group chats. 
> 
> And now that we're done with the schmoop, here's about the story itself!
> 
> This is a very close and faithful adaptation of the film The Lake House, which starred Sandra Bullock and my Imaginary Celebrity Husband (or ICH) Keanu Reeves. If you're very familiar with this movie, you might well recognize situations and lines identical to it. I have tried to veer from the original as little as possible in order to preserve as 'authentic' an experience as I can. 
> 
> I'll be posting one chapter a day until it is complete. It's the first time I'm trying this short-scene format, and just the second time I'm writing in present tense. I hope I haven't done poorly with either. 
> 
> For more views of the lake house referenced endlessly throughout this story, and which plays such an integral role in it, [please visit this page](https://hookedonhouses.net/2011/02/13/building-glass-house-for-the-lake-house/) that discusses its construction for the film as well as quite a few photos, to give a better idea of layout and appearance.
> 
> I really hope you like this story, please tell me what you think!

 

Brienne struggles, at first, to keep from crying as she watches the sun rise over the lake. Then she gives up and lets the tears fall; there is no one here to mock her for it, except the dog, and he's too busy licking his balls to care.

When the sun finishes its ascent into the sky, she scrubs at her face with her hands and then goes to put her coat on. At the door, she pauses and looks back into the beautiful, weird house in which she'd lived for a year. Stripped of the drapes that had framed each floor-to-ceiling glass wall, and all the furniture, the view through it is practically unimpeded. It appears to hover over the lake, with only its slender, stork-like supports interrupting the vista over God's Eye's silver-blue water.

From her coat, Brienne draws an envelope.

"Time to go," she says to the dog.

He is thoroughly disreputable-looking, despite how she tries to keep his beigey-brown fur trimmed and clean. She decided a while ago to just give up and let him look like a hobo. He gets to his feet and plods after her. They walk to the mailbox. It is unusual in that, instead of the more typical black box with red flag on its side, it's bright red and the flag is black. Brienne isn't sure if that signifies anything, but since she is moving out that very day, it is no longer her concern.

She licks the envelope flap, presses it closed, and puts the letter in the mailbox, then raises the little flag. She makes a show of dusting off her hands, more for the symbolism of the action than to clean any dirt off.

"Well, Sandy, that's that."

The dog, unimpressed, uses a hind leg to scratch his ear, but willingly enough follows her to her car and hops in. She runs a careful eye over the car's contents, to be sure she has everything, before sliding behind the wheel.

"Okay. Here we go. On to our next adventure."

Sandy curls up on the seat, gives his balls one last lick, and goes to sleep.

* * *

Traffic gets more dense the closer Brienne comes to King's Landing. The apartment building she pulls up in front of is on a narrow little street named Eel Alley. What the neighborhood lacks in space and cleanliness, it more than makes up for in picturesque view: from this high on Visenya's Hill, she can see clear across the city to the Red Keep and the Blackwater beyond it.

Plus, it's close enough to the train station to make her commute easier, and extremely cheap. First-year residents make far less than people like to think a doctor earns. And it's practically-new construction, so the odds of black mold or cockroach infestation are low.

Well, lower.

Less high?

Brienne opens the car door so Sandy can go water a shrub, and begins to haul things from the car.

* * *

King's Landing General Hospital is bustling, chaotic, and loud: in other words, a typical big-city medical facility. Brienne introduces herself and is directed down a maze of corridors to her new boss, one Catelyn Stark, MD.

Dr. Stark's keen blue eyes give her a once-over, then a brisk nod. "Good to meet you. You've got twenty-two patients today. Here."

She dumps a tall stack of files into Brienne's arms.

"Twenty-two?" Brienne repeats, feeling the first twinge of alarm.

"Yes. Slow morning, thank the Seven. If you get into trouble, page me, but only if it's dire."

And that is Brienne's welcome to her residency.

* * *

"Excuse me." Desperately lost, Brienne stops a plump young man who looks reasonably doctor-like. "Where is Radiology?" She gazes around at the signs, the different-colored lines on the floor directing people to various departments, and then back at him.

"Wrong floor," he says kindly. "You need the next floor down." At her impatient huff, he smiles. "Takes a while to get your bearings. I'm Sam Tarly. You're the new resident, right? Where'd you do your internship?"

"A little community hospital, by Storm's End."

"Ah, right by the sea! Nice! Well, just think of this as a little community hospital, only with more gunshot wounds."

He smiles again as he walked away. Brienne does not feel any more reassured.

* * *

When Brienne's first shift winds to an end, she is profoundly grateful.

"A dazed state of near-panic is normal for the first few months," says Talisa, another resident, in the locker room as Brienne changes from scrubs to street clothes. Brienne smiles politely in reply, too tired to form actual words.

"You should come with us to The Dragon Pit," Sam pipes up. "The beer's cheap and they don't mind when the residents cry from exhaustion."

"Another time," she hedges. "I'm wiped, and still have unpacking to do at my new place.”

They don't seem offended by her refusal, for which she is glad. With a wave, she flees the locker room at the fastest pace she can manage, eager to fill her lungs with fresh air after ten hours of the stale recycled mess she'd been breathing, but the snootful of car exhaust she gets upon stepping through the sliding doors reminds her that she isn't in the Riverlands anymore.

At home, Sandy lunges at her, looking as relieved as a mutt of uncertain lineage can look.

"Yes, I'm back, sorry, sorry," she tells him, giving him many pets and hugs and then snapping his leash onto his collar so she can take him for walkies. Outside, he squats to poop while maintaining intense eye contact the entire time, watching her with an expression of deep reproach. Was it for keeping him cooped up all day? Was it for having no actual furniture yet, and being forced to sleep on a futon on the floor?

Probably for taking him away from heaven-- the lake house, with its beach frontage and open space and clean air-- to hell. King's Landing is a bustling, exciting place, but even after only one day, she can tell it is going to fall short in so many ways when compared to Harrenhal's rural peace.

Back inside, she puts on water to boil for dinner, which will consist of ramen and instant coffee, then spoons smelly dog food out of a can for her roommate.

"Dinner of champions," she mutters, and begins unpacking the first box. "We're champions, Sandy."

He gives the contents of his bowl a disdainful sniff and shoots her a skeptical look before starting to eat.

* * *

Jaime backs his pick-up as close to the jetty as possible, given how little vision he has past the towering mound of belongings burdening the vehicle. Getting out of the truck, he stands and looks past the dented old tin mailbox at the house for a long, silent moment.

 _I'm home,_ he thinks, and the knot in his stomach eases for the first time since he'd begun the process of buying the place.

* * *

After wrestling the larger pieces of furniture into the house, Jaime is tired and decides to pick up some needed things before he is too worn out to get the job done. He drives the familiar road to the little general store his family had always frequented, when they'd lived at the lake house in his youth, and is swept by nostalgia when the bell over the door tinkles with his entrance.

But the person behind the counter is not the affable older man he recalled; instead, it's a tallish woman with striking crimson hair and the kind of flawless bone structure that even his sister Cersei would have envied.

"Take a basket," the woman says. "Holler if you can't find something you need."

Jaime smiles and obediently grabs a basket. It takes little time to navigate up and down the few short aisles, and soon he is lugging the full basket to the register. It is, he was pleased to see, the same old manual register he recalls from before.

"New to the area?" she asks as she begins to ring up Jaime's purchases. "I'm Melisandre."

"More or less," he says with a faint grin. "Jaime."

"I'll get you some boxes to put all this in," says Melisandre, stretching up to reach a shelf laden with boxes. As she reaches, he can see the curve of her pregnant belly.

"No, let me," he says. "I'm taller."

Once the boxes are procured, she goes about ringing up his purchases.

"Find everything you need?" she asks, glancing down at the items as she packs them in a box. "What about dog food?"

"Nope, I'm good." Over her shoulder, he sees a variety of mailboxes and decides to get one; the old one at the house has been the victim of one too many games of mailbox baseball, and if he's making a fresh start, it should be a _fresh_ start.

"Which one do you think I should get?" he asks her, gesturing at them.

She peers at him for a long moment, and he thinks-- but can't be entirely sure-- that the ruby pendant at her throat flashes. She smiles and turns to survey her selection.

"This one," she says, very sure as she points to one that is red with a black flag.

It's different. Striking. Its irreverence goes with the house.

"I'll take it," he says, and reaches for his wallet.

* * *

Back at the lake house, Jaime pulls to a stop and brings the groceries inside before heading back down the jetty to switch out the mailboxes. He realizes, belatedly, that he'll need some concrete to fix it in place so it won’t keep wobbling, loose, in the post hole. It'll do for now, though, and he gives it a satisfied pat.

He carries the old mailbox to the curb for trash day and tosses it in. On his way in, walking past the new box, he frowns a little to see that the flag, which had been down as he installed it...

...is up.

There's no point to checking, but he looks anyway, and is a bit stunned to find a letter inside.

_Weird._

He's curious, but first things first: he puts away the food and slaps together a sandwich for dinner. Popping the cap off a beer, he parks himself in his scuffed leather armchair, tugs the chain on the old brass floor lamp he'd positioned nearby, takes a bite, and thumbs open the envelope while chewing.

 _Dear New Tenant,_ it reads. _Welcome to your new home and congratulations, et cetera. I know you'll love living here as much as I have. The post office will be forwarding my mail, but I wondered if you could send on to me anything that might slip through. I'll compensate you for any costs it might entail. My new address is below. Thank you! Sincerely, Old Tenant (Brienne Tarth)_

_P.S. Sorry about the paw prints by the front door. They were there when I moved in, as was the box in the attic. I think it belongs to the owner._

Jaime stares at the letter, then puts his sandwich down on the plate and stands, making his way to the front door. No paw prints. Then he fetches a flashlight, goes to the pull-down hatch to the attic, climbs the ladder, and stares into the space. It is utterly vacant, lacking even insulation (no wonder it's so chilly; Jaime makes a mental note to do something about that ASAP).

_Even weirder._

He closes the hatch, drops the letter into the garbage, and goes back to his sandwich. Hauling furniture around and another beer has him feeling sleepy and he goes to bed early. By the time he falls asleep, he has forgotten the letter ever existed.

* * *

The next morning, Jaime dives into work feeling better than he has in a long time. Waking up at the lake house goes far in lifting his outlook for the day. Inside the office trailer, he prepares for the day while his secretary, Ros, argues with suppliers on the phone.

Then he goes out to the site and bickers with his foreman until the man organizes the workforce more efficiently so they could actually be on schedule. At the end of the day, about to leave, Jaime spots a few half-full cans of paint and instead of discarding them, decides to bring them home.

Once back at the lake house, he sweeps the jetty clean and applies a fresh coat of paint to the weather-beaten boards. When he's done, he surveys his work, hands on hips, pleased with the result. He begins to clean the brush but his attention is caught by the arrival of a dog trotting up the road. Its fur is matted and it looks skinny; a stray, then.

The dog, unconcerned by Jaime's presence or the smell of the paint, saunters right up the jetty, over the wet paint.

"Hey!" Jaime shouts, and runs after it.

The dog gives a startled yelp and bolts away, toward the house. Jaime, stupidly, had left the door ajar and the dog shoves it open with his snout, running frantically away from Jaime's futile attempts to capture it. After a few frustrating moments, the dog finds the door again and pelts outside to freedom.

Jaime stands there, fuming at the paint tracks on the floor... and then goes still as he remembers the letter and runs to the garbage. He digs through it, nose wrinkling at the smell and feel of what he is exploring, and when he is shoulder-deep in the bag finally finds what he seeks: the former tenant's letter.

He unfolds it and rereads its contents as best he can through the smears of mustard it has acquired from being in the trash can.

* * *

That morning had promised to be unseasonably temperate, but when Brienne leaves the hospital for the nearest park, intent on eating her lunch in the sunshine, she's disconcerted by how warm it is. She unzips her coat to let cooler air in and makes her way to the fountain on the far side of the park. She likes sitting there, watching the children run around and old men play chess, and with the temperature hovering around 60 degrees, the fountain isn't frozen and she can enjoy the soothing gurgles of the water as it splashes.

"What's with the damn weather?" one of the old men gripes. "60 degrees on Valentine's Day!"

"It's global warming," says the other sagely.

She has just unwrapped her sandwich and lifted one half of it to her her mouth when a grinding squeal of brakes catches her attention. She looks around with haste, searching for the source of the noise. About fifty feet away, a bus is trying frantically to stop but a man is standing in the street, directly in the bus' path, and there is nothing to be done.

The bus strikes the man. He flies in a weirdly graceful arc about fifteen feet before crashing to the pavement with a grotesque thud.

Brienne is already on her feet by the time he lands. As she runs toward him, she pulls out her phone and presses autodial and the numeral 'one'.

"Ambulance to Aegon's Park, Sowbelly Row, right by the fountain. Bus vs. pedestrian."

She stuffs the phone into her pocket as she shoves her way through the gathering crowd.

"I'm a doctor," she keeps saying, and finally is able to fall to her knees beside the man. His limbs are twisted, and his head is bloody. She can see at once that the right side of his face is broken, temple and cheekbone caved in, and knows there's little she'll be able to do. But she still feels for a pulse, leans down to listen for any breaths he might miraculously be taking. Dimly, she hears the ambulance siren as the EMTs arrive.

They kneel on the other side of the fallen man to assist Brienne with CPR, working intensely, but soon one of them sits back on his heels and shakes his head.

"He's gone," he says.

Brienne keeps working as if he hasn't spoken. The EMT puts his hand on her shoulder, gives her a gentle shake.

"Doctor," he says. "He's gone."

Brienne gives one more chest compression, then stops. She swipes a wrist over her sweaty forehead and stands while the EMTs pull out a gurney and begin to remove the body from the street.

* * *

Brienne's hands are still shaking as she tries to pour herself coffee in the hospital break room. Coffee spills over the counter in a rivulet not unlike the path of the dead man's blood on the street. She closes her eyes, leaning on the counter, and takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes again, her hands are steady once more.

And she realizes Dr. Stark is standing a few feet away, watching her.

"I heard about the park. EMTs said you fought hard for the guy."

"Yeah, I really knocked myself out," Brienne replies. She hears the sarcasm, the self-loathing, the impotence, in it, but can't hold back.

"I had a case, once," says Dr. Stark, after a pause. "Routine heart surgery. No indication anything would go wrong. But he died on the table. His body just... chose that time to go. It was no one's fault, nothing I could have done differently or better. But I couldn't sleep for weeks, after it."

Brienne knows what she is doing, and appreciates it. "Thanks. I'll be fine."

She turns to go, but Dr. Stark stops her with a word.

"Brienne? You have anyone in King's Landing? Family, friends?"

Brienne shakes her head. "A dog. That's it."

"Do me a favor. On your next day off, go someplace... else. Away from here. Where you feel happy."

Brienne nods slowly. It's not bad advice.

* * *

Jaime, on his way to work, slips a note into the mailbox and raises the flag.

* * *

Brienne pulls up to the general store. Through the window, she can see the redheaded shopkeep, Melisandre. As Brienne enters, the other woman blinks as she recognizes her.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Melisandre says. "How's King's Landing? What are you doing back here in the boonies?

"It's okay," Brienne replies with a faint smile. "Just needed to get out of the city. When it's warm like this, you've got to."

"Isn't the weather crazy? I can't believe-- what is it, sweetie?" Melisandre stop and bends to pick up the toddler who has just run behind the counter to her.

The toddler replies in a spate of unintelligible babbling. While mother and child are distracted by each other, Brienne escapes to the farthest aisle to do her shopping.

* * *

Jaime is surveying the job site while eating a sandwich. It's cold and windy and his face feels chapped. Ros walks up to him carrying a paper bag full of the lunch she has just purchased for herself. She looks around at the overcast sky and grimaces.

"God, it's really miserable. Don't catch a cold or anything on me, all right?

Jaime grins at her while chewing the last bite of his sandwich, then leans back over the blueprint spread out over the folding table before him. "I never get sick."

She looks frankly skeptical. "You find a place to stay yet?"

"Yeah, just outside of town, up the shore a bit, right on the lake."

"Up the shore?" Ros thinks hard. "You don't mean that weird place with the glass walls, on stilts...?"

"That's the one."

"That's not _on_ the lake, that's _in_ the lake! It's been empty for years. Decades. Why'd you choose that one?"

Jaime balls up the sandwich wrapper and walks to the nearest dumpster to toss it out. Ros follows, then curses as her pumps get stuck in the mud, one foot pulling free. She puts her hand on Jaime's shoulder for balance as she wobbles on the other. He extracts her shoe and tries to clean off the mud before handing it back to her. She crams it back on and tiptoes out of the danger zone.

"Thanks," she says with a smile.

"Get some boots," he tells her.

She only smiles wider.

* * *

On the beach, Brienne throws a stick for Sandy, smiling faintly as his ears flap in his frenzy to fetch it, but her attention drifts to the lake house, visible in the distance. It's just as vacant and empty as it had been when she moved out, months earlier, and she can't help but make her way closer as the minutes pass, until she's standing at the end of the jetty, right by the mailbox. With a start, she realizes the flag is up.

An impulse forms to check inside, see if her letter is still there. She opens it and sees an envelope, but it's not the one she had left. She removes it and blinks to see it's addressed to her.

 _I got your note,_ it reads in a slashing hand. _Is it supposed to be some kind of joke? If so, I don't get it._

She frowns. Joke?

_I'm not the previous tenant. There was no previous tenant. The house was vacant for almost twenty years before I bought it a week ago. Sincerely, Only Tenant (Jaime Lannister)_

_P.S. How did you know about the paw prints?_

Brienne can't stop frowning, confused. She digs in her bag for pen and something to write on.

* * *

Jaime pulls his truck up beside the end of the jetty and turns off the engine. As he walks past the mailbox, he notices the flag is up and wonders if his letter back to the 'previous' tenant is still in it. He looks inside and sees a folded sheet of paper. He takes it out and begins to read as he enters the house, but his attention is diverted when eighty pounds of dog leaps at him.

"Fuck! Down! Get down!"

The dog had refused to go away so Jaime gave up trying to make it, and accepted his fate as a new pet owner. Odd how the woman at the general store had tried to get him to buy dog food, almost like she had known…

The damned thing won't stop launching himself bodily at Jaime every time he comes in the door, however. Probably he should make some effort at training the creature.

Bored now that the excitement of Jaime's return has faded, the dog ambles away, and Jaime stoops to pick up the paper he had dropped.

_I'm not sure what I wrote that was funny enough to be a joke. I promise you, I only want you to send on any mail that the post office might miss in forwarding to me. Again, my address is 298 Eel Alley, King's Landing. Sorry for any trouble I may cause you._

* * *

Jaime perches on the stone ledge of a sculpture platform outside the architecture department of Baelor University, waiting. When Bronn finally emerges, Jaime grins at him.

"Ah, so the prodigal cunt returns," says Bronn and walks toward him, hand extended. "Thought you were too busy making money like the soulless hack you are."

"You're one to talk," counters Jaime. "And I'm never too busy to look up an old friend and buy him a drink."

" _Only_ friend," says Bronn. "And I'm touched." His smirk is wry. "Why are you really here?"

Jaime laughs. "Had an errand or I wouldn't be within ten miles of this shithole."

"Where'll we drink?" asks Bronn. "The Dragon Pit, like always?"

Jaime's about to agree when the door behind Bronn opens and an older man comes out. As he begins to descend the steps to street level, he sees Jaime and their eyes catch. Jaime's breath stutters as his father freezes and they stare for several moments.

Then Tywin walks on, as if he hadn't noticed Jaime at all. Jaime's fists clench as he watches him leave.

"I can really use that drink," he says.

* * *

At the Dragon Pit, Jaime hunches over a grease-dripping burger, gaze distant, only half-listening as Bronn talks about his doctoral thesis. There are few people in the world less likely than Bronn Blackwater to be earning their PhD in architecture, but Bronn's been obsessed with castles his entire life and wants nothing more than to design huge stone buildings that hearken back to yesteryear. Jaime's long since given up on trying to understand him or anyone else. With how insane his own family is, he has no right to expect normalcy from others.

"So how's life in condo world?" Bronn asks him, dragging Jaime from the mire of his own thoughts.

"Can be tough, managing such a large project. Lots of logistics to plan for."

"Just tell me how much money you're making."

"Nope."

"At least give me a hint."

"I bought a house," Jaime admits. "On the God's Eye lakeshore."

Bronn whistles. "That much? What am I still doing here? Could have quit after the master's, like you, and been swimming in dragons by now."

"Don't be too impressed," says Jaime. "I'm mortgaged up to my eyeballs."

"Still," says Bronn wistfully, "a lake house. Guess that makes selling out your dreams and betraying your talent and family legacy totally worth it."

Jaime eyes him in a not-entirely-friendly manner. _Fucker_.

"Yeah," he says at last, and clinks his beer bottle against Bronn's. "Totally."

"So you never think about coming back, finishing your thesis?"

"Never," Jaime lies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching TLH so many times in preparation for this story, my BFF and I have much of the dialogue memorized. AND, just like in the movie, it's been bizarrely warm here, too, just a week after Valentine's Day. I wondered aloud why we're getting this crazy weather-- in no way meaning to echo the movie-- and the BFF just looked at me and said, "Global warming," and then we LOL'd for probably a lot longer than it merited. 
> 
> I'm glad people are enjoying this so far, and also that some of you are inspired to watch the movie, now! Let's all spaz about Keanu together.

* * *

 

"Bronn."

"Yeah?"

"Tywin ever ask where I went? Or why?"

"No."

* * *

"Where the fuck are we going, again?"

Jaime gestures to the GPS app on the phone stuck to the pick-up's dashboard. Along the top of the screen reads their destination: 298 Eel Alley. He navigates around the increasingly narrow and winding streets of Visenya's Hill while Bronn frowns at him.

"Yeah, but's what there?"

"I don't know."

"Does someone live there?"

"I don't know."

"Then why are we going?"

"I don't know."

Jaime ignores the 'stupid cunt' Bronn mutters to turn a sharp corner. "Okay, so, that's 294... 296... huh."

Before them, where 298 should be, is an empty lot. Or, rather, a gaping crater, the foundation of an eventual building just begun recently. Jaime digs the last letter from his pocket and stares down at it in perplexment.

That's when he realizes that it's dated two years in the future.

* * *

Brienne slumps on the break room sofa, studying her latest letter from the lake house's new tenant for the third time. She's not sure why she went back again, why she felt the need to check the mailbox again, but... she did it. And there was a reply to her hurriedly-scrawled note. And she can't understand it, no matter how she tries.

 _I think there's some sort of mistake,_ the new tenant has written. _I tried to deliver this in person but you gave me the wrong address, because there's nothing at 298 Eel Alley. Unless you put King's Landing by accident and it's in another city? I am_ _not_ _going to Oldtown or Sunspear. Even KL is pushing it. Just so you know._

 _P.S. What's with putting 2014 as the date? I can understand still writing the old year after January 1st, it can take a while to get used to a new year, but I've never seen someone date something in_ _future_ _years. I think you're confused._

Brienne leans forward to where a blank sheet of paper and pen await her, and begins to write.

* * *

Jaime sits back in his battered leather chair and lifts the bottle of beer to his lips while gazing out the glass wall to where the sun is setting over the Isle of Faces, in the center of the lake. The dog flops onto Jaime's feet, rolls to his back, and promptly falls asleep. Once the dog is snoring, and the sun has slipped below the horizon, Jaime unfolds the letter he earlier plucked from the mailbox and rereads it.

 _I think you're the confused one. There's an apartment building at 298 Eel Alley-- yes, in KL-- and I know that because_ _ I live in it _ _. And no one asked you to come here or anywhere else-- just throw whatever you get for me in the mail and I'll send you back a check for postage._

 _Touchy wench,_ he thinks with a grin.

 _And I know the date, too. I think maybe you're the one stuck on the wrong year if you don't realize it's 2014. What year do_ _you_ _think it is?_

* * *

 _It's 2012, you crazy woman,_ is all the note says, and Brienne narrows her eyes at the rudeness.

"Hmf," she huffs, and Sandy deigns to lift his head from his paws to shoot her a reproachful glare for waking him. She pats his head, thinking hard, and then pauses the DVD of her favorite movie, Notorious with Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman, before standing from where she'd been sitting on the floor.

She rummages through the boxes scattered around the apartment that she still has yet to unpack, even after living there for two months. Eventually she finds what she's looking for, and pulls out a shoe box, opening it to find a jumbled pile of photographs. She's been meaning to organize them, put them in an album one of these days, but...

Rifling through them, she finds one of herself with her former boyfriend, Hyle, where they're in each other's arms, laughing, happy. She stares at it for a long moment before stuffing it in the bottom of the pile and rummaging further.

She finally finds a picture that will suit her purposes: it shows her and some friends, outside at night in t-shirt and jeans while snow falls thickly around them. She flips it over to see the auto-printed date on the back: April 3, 2012.

* * *

Jaime arrives home and, as has become his new habit, to his slight embarrassment, checks the mailbox for anything from Brienne. He can't quite stifle the smile when he sees a new letter from her, and can barely make it inside before tearing open the envelope.

_Since you don't believe me, here's a little warning: there was a bad flu going around in the spring of 2012. I remember because there was a freak late snow, and after that, everybody got sick in early April. So, my reluctant correspondent, if you really are who-- or when-- you say you are... I hope you're getting plenty of rest and drinking lots of fluids._

Jaime can't keep from rolling his eyes, feeling stupid for being eager to read what she had to say, if she's going to be ridiculous like this. He turns to discard the letter in the trash but the wide view out the glass walls catches his attention: thick clouds are collecting over the lake.

And then he sneezes.

Then again.

It's when he sneezes a third time that he realizes it has begun to snow.

* * *

Jaime has to crunch through a crisp-shelled layer of snow on the jetty to the mailbox, and as he puts his response into it, he bites his lip in apprehension. He puts the flag up, and then inspects it from all sides, running his hands over it, as if he can feel for something suspicious, but finds nothing.

* * *

Brienne smiles up at the clear sky overhead and shucks her cardigan as she approaches the mailbox. She'd left her car down by the beach, where Sandy continues to run and frolic, in order to enjoy the beautiful warm weather. She sees the flag is up and there's a spring in her step as she hastens to see if there's a letter for her.

There is.

She doesn't bother to wait, eagerly tearing the envelope open, her eyes coasting over the page.

It doesn't take long to read it in its entirety.

_Okay, I believe that it's 2014 where you are. But it's 2012 here._

_Wench, can this be happening?_

Hands shaking, she yanks open her bag and rummages for a pen.

* * *

Jaime turns to go back inside, shivering, and swipes a hand under his reddened nose as it starts to drip.

A squeak sounds behind him. He turns around, and finds the mailbox flag is down.

He had put it up not ten seconds earlier.

He stares, alarmed, and then opens the mailbox gingerly, with just the very tips of his fingers. Inside is his own note, but scrawled along the bottom under his own _can this be happening?_ are two words:

_Yes._

And...

 _ Wench _ _?_

* * *

Brienne is still dazed as she lets herself into her apartment in King's Landing. She moves on autopilot, her motions jerky, as she opens a can of food for Sandy, and doesn't bother making anything for herself. Her appetite's been gone for a while.

* * *

He's slumped in bed, propped up against the pillows, tissues crumpled all around him and a half-full glass of lukewarm orange juice abandoned on the bedside table. He stares down at the note, lifting it away from potential damage as the dog clambers onto the bed and heaves himself into Jaime's lap to fall unconscious with the swiftness of a mortal blow to the head.

* * *

She sits on her bed, a large textbook on her lap for a hard surface, and places a clean sheet of paper on it. Her hand, pen gripped lightly in it, hovers over the page as she tries to decide how to begin.

 _I don't know the right questions to ask,_ she writes. _Is there anything you can tell me that might shed some light on this?_

* * *

Jaime leans back against the pillows. He's back in bed, still sick, but feeling better. Beside him, the dog has rolled to his back and is asleep. Jaime's gaze shifts out the open bedroom door to the hallways and falls on the paw prints the stupid creature had tracked through the house, and inspiration strikes.

 _I think we have the same dog,_ he writes.

* * *

She writes, _Does yours jump on you when you come home and scare the shit out of you? And does he sleep like a person? I call him Sandy._

* * *

Jaime looks over at where the dog is laying on his back, snoring wetly, mouth wide open. He starts to laugh.

"So you're Sandy," he says. "Good to meet you."

The dog snorts but does not awaken.

"Or..." he pauses. "You _will_ be Sandy. Eventually."

 _What's it like in 2014?_ he writes.

* * *

 _It's amazing,_ she writes _. Everyone drives these flying cars. We all dress in shiny metal jumpsuits. Oh, and the Westerlands Lions won the series last year._

_Haha, no... nothing has changed much. Including the Lions' losing streak; that'll last forever._

_I think we should introduce ourselves properly_. _I'm a doctor, a first-year resident in internal medicine at King's Landing General Hospital. At least, I am now, in 2014. In 2012, I was still an intern in medical school, in Bronzegate._

_One thing worries me. What if, in sending these letters, in communicating like this, we accidentally tamper with the course of time itself, altering human history forever in the process?_

* * *

"Yeah, good point," Jaime mumbles as he reads her letter on the way down the jetty to the front door after work. "Let's not do that."

He lets himself into the house. Sandy jumps up onto him, making him yelp in fright.

"Aggh! No," he admonishes. He sets Sandy back on the floor, immediately goes back outside and comes in again. Sandy jumps up. Jaime puts him on the floor firmly and holds him there.

"No."

Jaime repeats this several times. Finally he enters and Sandy stays down. Jaime gives him a treat.

"Good boy!"

* * *

 _I did have to change one thing,_ Brienne reads as she enters her apartment. _You're welcome, wench._

She braces herself for Sandy's customary jarring welcome, but finds him sitting placidly in front of the door, panting. Brienne looks back and forth between the dog and the letter, and for the first time she can remember in far too long, laughs.

She returns to the lake house the next day, grinning as she stuffs her response into the mailbox and lifts the flag.

* * *

_Thanks for the favor. Here's one back at you._

It's overcast, cold, and windy. Jaime frowns down at the letter, then stoops to peer back into the mailbox. He reaches in and pulls out a neatly-folded scarf in blue and rose stripes, with little suns and moons embroidered into it. After staring for a moment, he smiles and winds it around his neck, then returns to the letter.

_Put this on and don't take it off for the rest of the month. It's gonna stay cold till the middle of April._

The next day at work, Jaime is aware of Ros staring at him and wonders why, until he remembers he's wearing the scarf and probably looks like an idiot.

He buries his chin deeper into the soft wool, hiding a grin.

* * *

Brienne takes the stairs to the roof of her building; she has found that, on a clear day, from the very northwest corner, she can see a sliver of God's Eye, especially on a clear day, when the sun sparkles brightly on the water. If she squints, she can pretend she can even make out the lake house on the western shore, though she knows it's impossible.

 _If we're going to keep doing this, we've got to know more about each other. Send me lists,_ she reads, and smiles.

* * *

 _I like dogs, as you know,_ Jaime reads. _Gimlets -- that's gin and lime juice, delicious on a warm night. I like the woman who runs the general store in Harrenhal, even though she's weird and smells like patchouli and I'm pretty sure I saw her wandering around the woods naked, once. I like the song_ _This Never Happened Before_ _by Paul McCartney. I like Jane Austen. I like... I_ _love_ _... my work._

He looks down at where he has set out gin, lime juice, and a cocktail shaker. He mixes himself a gimlet while Sandy looks on, a pathetic expression of woe on his face until Jaime tosses him a doggy treat.

_Turnoffs: cruelty, impacted bowels I have to un-impact, guys with mustaches, and ambushes._

Jaime tastes the gimlet and smiles.

* * *

Slinky guitar plays from Brienne's earbuds as she climbs the steps of a huge, venerable old stone building.

 _I like egg creams,_ he writes. _The song_ _How Blue Can You Get_ _by BB King. Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman in_ _Notorious_ _. The Art Institute of King's Landing on a quiet afternoon._

She sucks on the last of her egg cream before chucking the empty drink cup into the trash at the museum's entrance and stepping inside. She wanders around before stopping in front of a canvas of boats on the water.

_How'd you wind up living here, anyway?_

* * *

_Someone told me about it, and I rented it after med school,_ Jaime reads. _It was the strangest place I'd ever seen. I couldn't imagine anyone building it. Or... I couldn't imagine building it and then not living here. I loved the way it sort of... hovered over the water. I loved that jetty. I don't know why._

He sits on the jetty to compose his reply.

* * *

Brienne sits heavily at a table in the doctors' break room and extracts Jaime's latest letter from her scrubs pocket.

 _It's because you have to leave land to get to the front door,_ she reads. _It's like getting on a ship. Every time you come home, you're embarking on a voyage._

_Sorry. That was pretentious._

Smiling, she puts the letter aside and picks up her pen to write, _Don't apologize. You can be pretentious. You can be anything you like._

That evening, on the way home, Brienne is waiting at the train platform for her ride home when her phone rings.

 _Hyle Hunt_ , the caller ID says, and she debates for the space of a few seconds before taking the call.

"Hey, Bri!" he says, cheerful as ever.

"Hi," she replies, then falls silent. She can't think of anything to say to him. "What's up?" she ends up asking.

"I want to come visit you," he says.

The train barreled up to the platform with an earsplitting whistle announcing its arrival. Brienne feels a lance of panic through her innards at the idea of seeing him again.

"No, Hyle, that's not a good idea. Please don't. We need more time, especially if we're going to stay friends."

She tries not to sound too adamant or hostile. She fails apparently, because his tone switches immediately to injured.

"Are you mad I called?"

"No. I just... listen, I'm on my way home and the train's almost here, I have to--"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing," he says, defensive. "We were together for so long, I think it's reasonable to wonder. It hasn't been easy for me, you know."

"It hasn't been easy for me, either." Brienne clenches her molars as she strives for patience. "I have to-- Hyle, no-- I have to go." She rushes for the doors but, just as she gets there, they slam shut in her face.

Frustrated, she hangs up on Hyle and blows out a frustrated sigh.

* * *

Street clothes on, bag on shoulder, Brienne strides for the hospital's exit, only be be approached by Sam Tarly.

"Brienne, I need a favor," he said, face pleading. "I've got to have the night off. Take my shift?"

She stares at him in disbelief. "Tonight? Now? Really?"

"Please? I've got a date. She just asked me, and I really want to." He smiles shyly. "I'll cover for you next time."

She's exhausted, but nods. Sam beams at her and rushes off, excited.

She trudges back to the locker room and hopes there's a clean pair of scrubs to be had in her size.

When she finally is able to leave ten hours later, at six in the morning, she manages to trudge to the grocery store for dog food before going home, feeding Sandy, and collapsing into bed.

* * *

Jaime checks the mailbox for the third time in as many days and frowns to find it empty.

He's surprised at how disappointed he feels.

* * *

 _Hey, wench,_ she reads while she's in the tub, knees up to her chin. She barely fits, but is so desperate for a soak, to try and relax at least a little, that she swore she would make it happen one way or another. She'd been so busy that it had been over a week since she'd had both the time and energy needed to drive out to God's Eye to check the mailbox.

 _You haven't written in a while,_ Jaime continues. Brienne wishes she felt glad at his concern but instead it just feels like one more thing tugging at her, demanding her attention. She slumps in the bath as long as she can but her super-sized body is just too uncomfortable in the too-small tub and she soon climbs back out, resigned.

* * *

 _It's been a rough week_ , Jaime reads. _I worked 20 hours straight yesterday. I'm not often able to get away from the city. I can't remember the last time I looked at the sky, or saw a damned tree. It's not so bad when I'm busy. It's when I have a minute to breathe, to look around, that it seems really hard. I wonder what the hell I'm doing here, alone, in this gray city. And I miss the way the world looked from the windows of the lake house._

Jaime looks up from where he's reading the letter, in his trailer office at the construction site, to where dozens of young trees, their roots bound up in burlap balls, are waiting to be planted around the condos they're building.

* * *

Brienne leans her forehead against the train window, on the way home after another long and tiring day. A drop of water splatters on the other side of the window, and she grimaces as another and another spatter the glass: it's begun to rain.

Alighting from the train, she trudges down the street toward her building. Thunder crashes overhead, and the rain really starts pouring down in sheets. With a yelp, she starts running, but is completely soaked when she finally reaches her door. Fumbling with her keys, her rain-slick fingers drop them. She crouches to get them, and thunder cracks again, and then the rain pounding down on her... stops.

She doesn't realize right away, only when she looks up from the doorknob where she'd been trying to fit her key. Frowning, she looks around and sees that, while the rain is still falling, it's not falling _on_ _her_. Looking up, she sees that a tree, though young, is thickly-leaved enough to protect the entrance of her apartment building from the worst of the weather.

 _That,_ she thinks with mounting amazement, _had not been there a minute ago._

She smiles.

* * *

When he gets back from King's Landing, dirt-smudged and tired but satisfied, he checks the mailbox and is pleased to see the flag is up.

 _I love the tree,_ her letter reads. _Thank you._

He smiles.

* * *

"You cunt." Bronn stands on the jetty facing the lake house, flabbergasted by it. He ignores Jaime motioning for him to come inside. "This is where you've been hiding out? This is yours?"

"Yeah. You want a beer?"

"Yeah." Bronn gazes around. "It's like Le Corbusier meets Frank Lloyd Wright meets... me in five years. It's perfect."

"Actually, it's not." Jaime leads him outside to the deck running along the back of the house. "You can't swim. There should be a stairway down to the water. Something."

Bronn shakes his head. "It would ruin the line. Total aesthetic catastrophe."

"Yeah."

* * *

It's twilight. They sit on the back deck, lights low, beers in hand, and gaze out over the water while The Thrill Is Gone plays from inside.

Bronn peers at him through the dimness. "Jaime. I didn't just come up here to escape my pathetic existence in the city. I have an agenda." He swigs from his bottle. "If you drop this rich cunt thing you're doing with the condos and come back, we can still graduate together in a year. Start the firm."

"Ah, yes. 'Visionary Vanguard Associates', isn't that what we were going to call it?" Jaime gives a short, humorless laugh. "Forget it. He doesn't want me back. I don't want to _be_ back. Everybody's happier now."

" _Is_ everyone happier? Because you seem fucking miserable." He stares at Jaime, who resolutely looks out over the water. "Look, I know it's hard, but if you suck it up and put all the personal shit aside for another year, you'll have your degree, and–"

"I said forget it." Jaime's tone is sharp. Bronn says nothing. "Sorry. I just... like it up here."

"All I'm saying is, maybe you should think about the future."

"The future?" Jaime is startled at first, and then he begins to laugh and can't stop.

Bronn stares at him. "What?"

Jaime keeps laughing.

"What?"

* * *

 _Let's try something_ , Jaime reads. _Around 'your' time two years ago, I lost something at the Harrenhal train station. I was on my way back to school and I left it on the platform. I won't tell you what it is. See if you can find it for me. Then put it in the mailbox. This is your mission if you choose to accept it._

Jaime pulls into the parking lot of the Harrenhal train station and gets out of his truck. It's raining but he's cheerful, even eager. He walks at a leisurely pace through the station, casually observing those around him, but focusing on women, trying to see if he can figure out who Brienne might be. So far, she hasn't given him a single clue as to her appearance besides her eye color, which he has dismissed as irrelevant-- who can tell eye color from yards and yards away?

"The 5:46 to Storm's End has arrived on track twenty-nine. All aboard to Storm's End, with stops at Sow's Horn, Brindlewood, change in King's Landing, Bronzegate..."

As the announcement continues, he looks out the window between the waiting room and the platform and sees a tall blond person stand from where he'd been sitting on a bench. At first, Jaime thinks it's a man, because of the height, which has to at least equal his own six-foot-two. But then the guy turns, and Jaime sees his face full-on, sees that _he_ is a _she_.

 _Huh,_ he comments to himself, but doesn't put more thought into it than that... until she straightens, and looks up, and he sees her eyes. A shock goes through him, of astonishment and rock-solid recognition.

 _I have blue eyes,_ Brienne had once written, but... that was the understatement of the year. They weren't merely blue.

They weren't _merely_ anything. _She_ wasn't merely anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An [egg cream](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egg_cream), for those who might never have heard of it, has neither egg nor cream in it: basically you make two-thirds of a glass of chocolate milk, then fill it up the rest of the way with soda water. It froths up nicely. The soda water cuts the heavy sweetness of the chocolate milk. I quite like them. They're mostly an East Coast/NYC thing and I've drunk a few gallons in my time.
> 
> [The Paul McCartney song is cute, if you'd like to take a listen.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GdHVwII_zQ)
> 
> [The BB King song is a fucking masterpiece. You should definitely take a listen, if you've never before enjoyed the pleasure.](https://youtu.be/LWLAAzOBoBI?t=96)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your interest in this story, I hope you're enjoying it :) I'm so nervous about the different format and present tense! This writing thing can be nerve-wracking.

* * *

 

Brienne is not pretty. She's heavily freckled. Her jaw is square, and her nose is a mess. Her mouth is wide, lips full, and when she smiles, he can see uneven teeth.

But.

There's such warmth to her. She's a hot bath after a soaking rain, she's a crackling fire glowing in the hearth, she's the sun beaming down in the early spring, she’s the first sip of cocoa after an hour of snow-shoveling.

Jaime stares, aware he probably looks like a creeper, but he can't tear his gaze away.

He is going to go to her. He wants-- needs-- to see those eyes up close. He wants to hear her voice. He wants to see if he can make her smile, maybe even laugh. He pushes through the door to the platform, is fifteen feet away-- ten-- when she shifts and he sees a man standing beside her.

And leaning in to kiss her.

Jaime stops. Stares. Brienne smiles, kisses the man back, and a clutching sensation blooms, sickly, in Jaime’s chest.

Who is the man? He's innocuous-looking, almost-handsome, his hair a nothing shade of brown. Is there something crafty about the way the guy looks at Brienne? Something to indicate his intentions are anything less than upstanding?

"Final call for the 5:46 to Storm's End, track two--"

They leave the bench to move toward where the train has pulled up at the platform and she leaves a book behind, unnoticed and forgotten. Brienne leans forward-- down, really, because the man is her shorter by at least three inches-- and gives him a last kiss before tearing herself away and striding for the train. The man watches until the train has pulled away, then turns and leaves at a brisk pace.

Jaime feels deflated. Resentful, somehow. Even a little... betrayed. Cheated on? He clenches his jaw until the muscle threatens to cramp, and almost forgets to fetch the book. He'd planned on playing it cool, on sitting by the lost item for a few minutes and collecting it as if it had been his all along, but now he can't be bothered. He walks up to the book, snatches it off the bench, and stalks away.

He is perfectly aware how ridiculous it is to feel displeased by what he saw.

He just can't stop.

* * *

Brienne drives at a good clip down the road toward the lake house, eager to get to the mailbox. She grimaces as she passes a construction site with a big sign reading _Lakeside Condo Development_. The image on the sign, advertising how it will eventually look, showcases an upscale, sprawling complex utterly devoid of individuality or personality.

"Tacky," she mutters to herself, and drives on.

She arrives at the lake house and practically runs to the mailbox from her car, but there's nothing inside, so she rips a page from a notebook and scribbles, _Did you go to the station? Did you find what I left?_

Yes, he writes back. _Going to keep it for a while. I want to read it._

* * *

Persuasion by Jane Austen. She'd said she likes Austen. Jaime has read Pride and Prejudice\-- it's a requirement to graduate from every college in Westeros, he thinks-- but hasn't read this one. Is curious to see the attraction, what it might reveal about Brienne if she likes it so.

_There's something I've been meaning to ask you, wench,_ he wrote. _Who was the guy at the train station?_

Her answer does not make him feel better.

_Your_ _fianc_ _é_ _?_ he replies, stupidly furious. _Why didn't you tell me? God, I can't believe you didn't say you were married._

_You don't tell me about_ _your_ _love life._ She is angry, too; he can tell by how hard she has pressed the point of the pen into the paper. _He and I broke up when I moved to King's Landing. I'm alone, now._

_Because I don't_ _have_ _a love life,_ he writes back, pressing a bit hard with his own pen. He wonders at her choice of 'alone' over 'single'. _Unfortunately._

Then he adds, _I'm alone, too._ He doesn't need to wonder at _his_ choice of the word.

Then, before he chickens out: _You said your eyes were blue. You didn't tell me they were so beautiful, wench. I've never seen anything like them._

Then, _Can we meet up?_

* * *

She gasps when she reads his letter, staring at it for a full minute as she goes through a battery of emotions: disbelief, anger, hurt, frustration.

Then she reads the words a second time, and a third, and decides that he means them. He hasn't said her face is beautiful, just her eyes, and she'd be a liar if she said no one has ever told her that before.

_Beautiful is not a word used to describe me often,_ she therefore writes. _Or ever. And it's not fair, that you've seen me, now, but I still don't know what you look like._

She takes a deep breath before continuing.

_Why don't we get together in the future so I can see for myself? Or, if you don't want to do that-- or don't want to wait that long, either one-- you can phone me. What do you think about July 10th?_

She glances at her cell phone for the time and sees it has just gone 9:04.

_At 9:05pm?_

And then she waits.

After thirty or so seconds of silence, Sandy chooses that moment to fart, making Brienne jump in her chair with surprise. She hops up to open a window and is on the far side of the room when her phone rings, making her jump again.

She lurches back to the sofa and snatches up her phone, accepting the call without reading the caller ID.

"Hello?" she whispers, feeling true terror.

"Bri?"

She holds the phone away from her face to stare at it. " _Hyle?_ "

"Yeah. I'm in King's Landing. I came down for a meeting but it was canceled, so I thought I'd give you a call. What the hell. See if you were free."

* * *

Brienne walks down the street with Hyle, the silence awkward and uneasy.

"Thanks for coming out," he says. "Been too long."

"Too long," she echoes, not meaning it.

"How's Sandy? Adjusting to city life?"

"He's good."

Hyle glances sideways at her. There's confusion in his eyes, at how unforthcoming she is. "Have you eaten yet, by any chance?"

"No, but--"

"Me neither. I'm starving. We should grab some dinner."

Brienne nods, reluctantly. A small, elegant restaurant is across the street-- _Navar Lenton_ , reads the sign over the storefront-- and Hyle's face lights up when he sees it.

"This looks good. Let's go here."

"Oh, no, Hyle," she protests. "It's too expensive, it's--"

But he's already heading inside. She reluctantly trudges in after him.

"I'm sorry, we're completely booked for tonight," the hostess, who looks like a supermodel, is telling him. "But we have an opening for--" She pages through the reservation book. "--four months from now, if you like."

Hyle blinks, frowning in displeasure.

* * *

Brienne finishes chewing her mouthful of pizza and then says, "It's one of the best restaurants in the city. No one gets a table right away."

"That's not it," he says, frustrated. "I didn't do this right."

About to take another bite, she pauses. "You didn't really have a meeting in the city, did you?"

He shakes his head, looks sheepish. "I thought you'd meet me if it seemed like no big deal, a surprise, a quick coffee... But coffee could turn into dinner. And dinner could turn into..."

She could well guess what he'd hoped dinner could turn into. She compressed her lips, gathered her patience. "So this was an ambush."

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. Her temper leapt from its constraints.

" _Another_ ambush," she emphasized. When he finally met her gaze, she continued, heatedly, "You were always doing this. It's why I broke up with you in the first place, remember? While I was still in med school, before I knew where my residency would be, you decided we'd live in your hometown and bought a house there without consulting me. I'd come visit for the weekend, and you'd have all your old school friends there, the whole _town_ there, for a surprise party. When you know how much I _hate_ that, how much I hate surprises and when you made promises I'd have to keep."

The pleading in his brown eyes shifted to something harder. "At least I didn't make out with someone else."

* * *

_What?_

Brienne casts her mind back until she hits on the incident he is referring to.

"Oh, god," she groans. "I didn't make out with him. It was just a kiss. And it was just once, and it was years ago, and I never saw him again. I can't believe you're still stewing over that."

Hyle's bunched-up shoulders drop an inch. "Fine. I'm sorry. It's just that... I can't stop wondering if we could have saved things if I'd moved here with you."

"How?" she asks. "You have your practice in Harrenhal. You'd just bought the house there. You couldn't afford to move again so soon after that. And... I think it was for the best, that we split up."

"I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I should never have called. I just... missed you."

She does not answer.

* * *

Jaime lopes easily up the stairs to the Baelor University architecture department, his feet moving with familiarity up the worn granite steps. He doesn't even have to think about where he's going as he makes his way to his father's office, and just stands outside the open door for a few moments, watching Tywin grade papers in silence.

"This is a surprise," Tywin says quietly, not looking up.

"I was in the neighborhood," Jaime lies. "How've you been?"

"I'm well."

Jaime takes a tentative step into the office. "How’s Cersei? The kids?"

"She's still making excuses for why Joffrey is so awful. Myrcella just became a Girl Scout. Tommen started kindergarten this year." Tywin finally places his red pen on the desk and slowly, deliberately, looks up at Jaime. "Did you come here to make small talk, or does your presence have an actual purpose?"

Not for the first time, Jaime feels like his father has struck him in the face with his words. He makes his feet carry him forward, makes his hand reach into his jacket and withdraw the envelope he'd put there earlier. He places it on the desk right in front of Tywin.

"It's what I owe you." His father only arches an aloof steel-gray brow, so Jaime clarifies, "You paid my master's program tuition. So this is that money back." He pauses. "Lannisters always pay their debts."

Tywin looks briefly at the check before slipping it into a desk drawer. His eyes, so like Jaime's own-- it's where he got them from, after all-- are cold as he returns his son's stare.

"I bought the lake house," Jaime blurts.

"I know," Tywin drawls, and it's the same stinging drawl Jaime uses when he's angry or hurt or both, and he knows to brace himself, because something painful is coming. "I heard some sleazy little developer building McMansions up and down the lake shore snapped it up."

Jaime jerks back anyway, as if he'd actually been slapped. Without another word, he turns and leaves.

* * *

Jaime and Ros sit in Jaime's truck looking at the site after the ribbon-cutting ceremony to celebrate the completion of the first condo unit. Sandy is snoring on a pile of empty burlap sacks in the truck bed behind the cab.

"One down..." Jaime says.

"...forty-four to go," Ros finishes, with an air of Sisyphus, plagued with a duty that never ends.

"We're not terrifyingly behind schedule. Just... alarmingly," he continues, feeling rather cheerful in contrast to her clear anxiety. "It'll be okay. We'll catch up. We could use a couple more guys who know how to handle a backhoe. And the water line to number fourteen needs to be resealed--"

"Shut up," says Ros.

Jaime blinks. "What?"

"I'm kind of pissed off at you, you know."

"You... are?" He's baffled.

"I thought you were supposed to be on top of things around here."

"I thought I was."

"Well, you never noticed _these_." She puts a foot up on the dashboard. She's wearing new, rather flashy purple cowboy boots. "Don't you remember? You told me to get them."

"Right. Right." He laughs. "Wow. Not exactly what I had in mind, but..."

Ros smiles at him. "You like them or not?"

He looks at them. He also can't help looking at her leg. "I like them."

She grins. Behind them, Sandy wakes, sits up, shakes so vigorously his ears flap audibly.

"Good. Because I was thinking... if you're not busy tonight, we should--"

Sandy suddenly growls and leaps from the pick-up's bed.

"Hey!" Jaime exclaims, and scrambles out after him. Sandy dashes off over a hill. Jaime shouts but the dog doesn't stop. Jaime takes off running after him.

Ros gets out. "Jaime?"

* * *

Jaime chases the dog down a residential street, still shouting for Sandy to come back or at least slow the fuck down.

Sandy runs across someone's yard. The owner stands in his driveway, unloading boxes from his car trunk. He sees what's happening and, quick on his feet, manages to nip forward and snatch Sandy's collar, pulling him to a halt. Jaime runs up, winded and panting.

"Thanks," he gasps. The guy looks familiar, somehow. Jaime's about to reach for Sandy's collar but the dog abruptly drops to the ground, rolls to his back, and falls asleep, exhausted from his spontaneous dash for freedom. Jaime shakes his head in amused consternation. "He's never run off like that before."

"Gotta keep an eye on them," says the guy. "What's his name?"

"Sandy."

Ros starts up the street toward them, wincing with each step in her new boots. The guy squats down to pet the dog. "Hi, Sandy. I should get one like you for my girlfriend. She loves dogs."

Jaime notices the boxes are full of bottles of soda, beer, wine coolers, and hard liquor. They probably weigh a ton. "Need help?" It's the least he can do to thank the man for stopping Sandy.

"Sure, thanks."

Jaime lifts a box into his arms, then follows him to the house.

“I’m Hyle,” the guy says.

* * *

Hyle is genial, chatty. Boring, but nice. Jaime introduces himself, listens politely, and hopes they're done carrying everything soon.

"You're a developer, huh? I do some real estate law. Contracts, too. Wills, whatever people need around here. Big stuff, small stuff." He smiles in self-deprecation. "Okay, mostly small stuff. How about you? You live here long? I don't recognize you, and I know everyone in town."

"Just a few months. I've got a place on the Lake."

They finish toting everything inside just as Ros comes limping up, winded.

"Oh, you found him," she says, shooting Sandy a dirty look, then looking at Jaime's new pal. "Hi."

Hyle smiles a greeting at her. "Hey, just so you don't think I'm planning to drink all this by myself... I'm having a bunch of friends over tonight. Locals. You two are welcome to come."

Jaime and Ros exchange a glance. He sees on her face the same reluctance he knows is on his own.

"Thanks," she says, "but we've got plans."

"No problem," Hyle replies. "Good to meet you, anyway. Oh, hey--" he reaches into his pocket "-- take my card? I might be looking to rent a place on the lake, myself. If you hear of anything, would you let me know?"

"Sure." Jaime pockets the card.

"Thanks. I like this house, but my girlfriend doesn't. You know how it is."

Jaime does not, in fact, know ‘how it is’, but isn't about to say so. "No problem," he says, and starts to walk off, Ros at his side, but Hyle continues.

"I promised her a lake view if she moves here after med school."

Jaime stops. "She's in medical school?"

"Yeah. In Bronzegate. She comes up on the weekends, though."

Jaime stares, and it clicks that this is the man on the train platform with Brienne. Who had _kissed_ Brienne.

"She's coming in later tonight, actually," Hyle continues. "That's why I'm throwing the party."

Jaime stares at him in silence for a long moment.

"What time does it start?"

Ros stares at Jaime.

* * *

Jaime and Ros arrive at Hyle's house, where the party is already in progress. They start inside.

"This better be good," Ros mutters.

Hyle is talking and laughing with a happy-looking group. "You wouldn't catch me dead in King's Landing. I grew up here. You'd have to be nuts to live anywhere else. I--" He stops Jaime and Ros as they come in. "Hey! Glad you could make it. Bar's in the kitchen."

They move through the rooms. It's a pretty dull crowd. Ros gives Jaime a 'why are we here?' look. There's no sign of Brienne anywhere. Ros grabs a beer but he surveys the liquor selection, and sees there's lime juice.

"What's that you're making?" asks Ros.

"A gimlet," he replies.

* * *

Hyle prowls near the front window, glancing out of it every few moments like a pothead waiting for his dealer to arrive. It's putting everyone on edge despite the liberal consumption of alcohol. Ros has been giving Jaime murderous glares for the past half-hour and he's about ready to give in to her unspoken demands to leave when Hyle bounces on his toes.

"Okay, everyone, she's here! This is it!"

He slams his hand on the light switches and the whole house goes dark. The only sound for what feels like an eon, but in reality is probably about thirty seconds, is the booze-soaked breathing of the party guests. A car door slams outside, and then the front door is pushed open and a tall figure steps inside.

"Hyle?" says a female voice. _Brienne_. "Hello?"

Hyle flips on the lights, and everyone (except for Jaime and Ros) shrieks "Surprise!" at the top of their lungs. Someone carries in a huge sheet cake blazing with candles. Brienne looks stunned, and as far from happy as a person can be without actively assaulting someone else. Jaime bites his lip to keep from laughing. Hyle is oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm and kisses her, and Jaime feels the same sinking feeling that he had at the train station.

* * *

The house is so packed that Jaime has no opportunity to even get near Brienne, let alone have a word with her. He gives up, at least for the moment, and goes in search of a bathroom. On his way back to the party, he hears quiet voices coming from one of the bedrooms. As he passes it, he notices the door is ajar, and through the open gap he sees Hyle speaking with Brienne.

"Were you surprised?" he's asking her, as eager as a puppy.

"Yeah, I was," she replies slowly. "But when are they going to leave?"

Hyle blinks at her. "What's the matter?"

"I'm tired. Long day. Long train ride. Just wanted to relax and watch a movie, not entertain dozens of people I've never met before."

Hyle frowns. "These are my friends, Bri. They're going to be _our_ friends. I want you to get to know them. We're going to be making a life here. That's the plan, isn't it? That's always been the plan."

Brienne pauses, then says, "That's always been _your_ plan."

Her face is grave. Sad. She moves as if to leave the bedroom and Jaime hastens to take himself elsewhere, so he's not discovered eavesdropping. He sees Ros bearing down on him and doesn't really want to talk to her, either, so he sidles into the kitchen and from there, out the sliding glass door to the back yard.

* * *

It's only a minute before the glass door is sliding open again, and Jaime sighs, knowing he'll have to make more excruciating small talk with yet another local, but when he turns to face the newcomer his breath stutters in his chest.

It's Brienne.

She's no better-looking this close than she was from a distance, but even in the dim, sallow patio light, her eyes are extraordinary, luminous and faceted in a dozen shades of blue. Her face falls when she realizes she's not alone, but then she gets a good look at Jaime and blinks. They stare at each other in silence.

"Um," he says, feeling tongue-tied. "Happy birthday."

"If one more person says that to me tonight, I'm going to kill them."

_As if,_ he scoffs to himself, knowing how hard she works to _save_ people from dying. But he only grins, holds his hands up in surrender, and says, "Okay."

She sighs. "Sorry. I know it's no big deal. I'm just not in a party mood."

He shrugs. "It's a big deal if you feel like it is. You don't have to downplay when you're unhappy."

"Okay, Dr. Phil," she says with a smirk. "You good friends with Hyle?"

"Never met him before today," says Jaime. He begins to relax into his first real conversation with Brienne and decides to see how far he can push. He holds out a hand to shake. "Jaime."

"Brienne," she replies, and takes his hand. A frisson of awareness shoots up his arm. He wonders if she feels it, too. "So what are you doing here?"

He meets her eyes with his, and there's a breathless moment of connection before he drops his gaze to the lightly freckled expanse of skin revealed in the scoop-neck of her t-shirt, then flicks it away entirely. _Don't want her to think I'm a pervert,_ he thinks, and says, "I was hoping to meet somebody."

"Oh? Who?"

He shrugs. "Just someone Hyle told me about."

"Ah," she says sagely. "A fix-up."

"...sort of."

"He's always thinking ahead, our Hyle." It doesn't sound like a compliment to Jaime's ears. "So what do you do around here?"

"Hyle asked me to help him find you guys a place on the lake."

She gives a short, humorless laugh. "You're going to do that, huh?"

"Yes," he says. "I am."

She blinks, taken aback by how confident he sounds about it. "You a real estate agent?"

"No. But I have a lake house." He pauses, then forges on. "And you're going to rent it after I move out." He realizes how weird that sounds, and adds, "I mean. You could. If you wanted to."

She lifts her pale eyebrows. "When are you moving out?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. I guess... after you finish med school?"

Brienne stares at him, and he realizes he's revealed he knows too much. "Uh. Hyle said you were in medical school."

That seems to satisfy her. "What makes you think we'll like your house?"

"You'll like it," he tells her, and smiles.

They fall into silence, and it's... not exactly comfortable, but it's not uncomfortable, either.

Brienne looks back at the house and sighs. "Party's still going strong. It's pretty late. Hadn't you better get back in there? If you're going to find your dream girl tonight?"

"Yeah..." He hesitates, not sure what to do, so settles for staring at her. "Um."

She glances at him. "Yes?"

"Have you read Persuasion by Jane Austen?"

Brienne looks startled. "It's my favorite book. Why?"

"I have a friend who likes it."

She smiles broadly. With her wide mouth and crooked teeth, it shouldn't be as appealing as it is. "Your friend has good taste," she says.

"Yes. She does." He grins back, unable to help himself. "I've been meaning to read it. What's it about?"

"It's about... waiting." She stops, thinks a moment. "These two people meet. They fall in love, but the timing isn't right, and they have to part. Then, years later, they meet again. They get another chance. But they don't know if too much time has passed, if they've waited too long, if it's too late for things to work out."

"Sounds sad."

"It's not. Not in the end."

They're standing quite close. She looks at him. Her eyes are the most beautiful, compelling, mysterious things he's ever seen. He decides to take a chance and inclines his head toward hers. When she realizes what he's about to do, she meets him halfway and their lips meet in a long, lingering kiss.

It is perfect.

Her mouth is deliciously soft, its fullness custom-ordered for Jaime's to sink into, and when she sighs, he takes advantage of her parted lips to slide his tongue against hers. She tastes like gin and lime juice.

After a while, she breaks off with an embarrassed little laugh. "I don't know why I did that."

But she doesn't pull back; leans back in, in fact, lips parting again for him, and of course that's when the sliding door behind them opens to reveal both Hyle and Ros.

Brienne quickly jerks away from Jaime, but it's clear they've been interrupted at kissing.

"Oh, Hyle, hey," she says awkwardly. "Uh, Jaime was just telling me about his house. On the lake." She paused before continuing, lamely, "It sounds really nice."

"Great," says Hyle, his voice hard.

"We're, uh, definitely interested," Brienne finishes, sounding in an agony of embarrassment. Even in the dimness of the patio, Jaime can see the fiery blush creeping up her throat.

"Good. I'll be in touch." He stares at her, reluctant to end their moment together, even with the unwelcome presence of the other two. Then, almost to himself, he adds, "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Navar Lenton = Lake House in Valyrian


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your comments, I'm so happy you're enjoying it!
> 
> Tomorrow is the last chapter, and then I'll be resuming Desperado. And in March, theoretically, I begin to post Shoot the Moon, so I hope to see everyone reading that, as well!

Once prodded, her memory won't stop firing until she puts two and two together and draws a conclusion. When she starts her latest letter, she writes so quickly that her handwriting is atrocious, even for a doctor.

_Oh, my god,_ she writes. _That was you. At my surprise birthday party._ _That was you_ _. Why didn't you tell me who you were?_

She drives like a crazy person to the lake house, armed with paper and pen. She thrusts the note into the mailbox and jerks the flag upright, then stands there, intending to remain until he replies.

Nothing happens.

She stares at the mailbox for an hour, until her feet are sore from just malingering at the end of the jetty. Sandy is bored and resentful when she refuses to play with him. Finally, feeling guilty, she picks up a stick where he has dropped it at her feet and tosses it as far as she can before turning back to the mailbox.

The flag is down. Her breath catches in her throat. She takes an aborted step toward the mailbox and then stops in shock as, before her eyes, unassisted, the flag goes back up again. She lunges for the mailbox and yanks it open, snatching out the sheet of paper therein.

_How??? You would have thought I was insane._

She deflates at his practical answer, then scribbles a reply. _But I liked you. That was our chance. You should have said something. Anything._

Into the mailbox it went, and up went the flag. She watched, unblinking, and the flag rotated down. Almost a minute passed, and then it rotated up once more.

_What about your fianc_ _é?_

She scowled. _He's not my fianc_ _é. What about your girlfriend?_

_She's not my girlfriend._

_Well, Hyle's not my boyfriend!_ she protested.

_He was then,_ he writes. _I mean, he is now._

_Your_ _now, not mine!_ she replies, furiously. _And maybe_ _my_ _now would be different if you had said something then. Maybe now would have come sooner, or maybe now it would be_ _our_ _now, not just_ _my_ _now._

Brienne throws her pen down the jetty in frustration. Sandy dodges being hit by it, and then pounces, thinking it's another game of fetch. He brings the pen back to her, drool sliming it, and she takes it with a sigh.

* * *

Jaime throws his pen down the jetty in frustration. It sails over Sandy's head to splash in the water below. Jaime stomps into the house just in time to hear his phone ring.

It's his brother. "Hey. You need to come to King's Landing." Tyrion pauses. "It's Father. He collapsed."

* * *

Jaime makes it to King's Landing in record time, his heart thumping a rapid tattoo the entire journey. At the admissions desk, he says, "I'm looking for my father. Tywin Lannister. He was admitted today. "L-A-N-N-I--"

"Mr. Lannister," interrupts a voice from behind him. He turns to see a female doctor standing there. "I'm Dr. Stark. I'm the attending for your father."

"What happened? Is he-- will he be alright?"

"Walk with me," she says, and he falls into step with her as they start down the hall. "He's had a heart attack. Relatively minor. His students got him here quickly. We're monitoring him. Probably keep him for a day or two."

When they arrive at a patient room, Jaime can see Tyrion and Bronn standing in front of the door. Jaime hasn't seen his brother in over two years, and his legs feel so weak in relief at the sight of him that it's not only due to Tyrion's short stature that Jaime goes to his knees.

"Tyrion," he says, and hugs him. His brother's curly hair tickles his nose, as it always did when they were children.

"Jaime," says Tyrion in his deep, resonant voice. Jaime always said he should have been an opera singer. "You look well."

"Of course I do," Jaime made himself quip around the lump in his throat. "I'm the handsome one. You're the smart one--"

"--and Cersei is the mean one," Tyrion finished, grinning, then sobering. "She was here, earlier, but left as soon as she learned you were coming."

Jaime forced himself to shrug. "Probably better this way."

"Less violent, at the very least," says Tyrion, only half-joking.

"Is Tywin unconscious?" Jaime asks them. "Or can he have visitors?"

Dr. Stark, Bronn, and Tyrion exchange an amused glance.

"I'll be on rounds if you need me," is all she says before leaving. Jaime stares at the other men.

"He's evaluating a student project," Bronn tells him.

Disbelieving-- then believing, because he knows their father-- Jaime starts to laugh. It's a bitter laugh.

"Of course," he says.

"Can't let a little coronary throw off his whole class schedule," Bronn snarks.

The door opens, and a young woman comes out carrying a portfolio.

"And you thought he'd hate it," she snips at Bronn, then opens the portfolio to reveal a red _A_ boldly marked in the top margin. "He _loved_ it."

She turns on a stiletto heel and marches away.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day!" he calls down the hall at her. Her only response is a raised middle finger as she departed. He grins at Tyrion.

While they are distracted, Jaime lets himself into his father's room. His father is asleep, so Jaime takes the chair by the bed and tries to make himself comfortable for what is sure to be a miserable night.

* * *

Jaime looks strung-out after his night in the chair. Tywin examines his breakfast tray, frowning irritably.

"No coffee."

"You just had a heart attack," says Jaime. "Don't you think you can do without it?"

"Without it, I'll have a fucking stroke."

* * *

Jaime brings the coffee to his father's room, annoyed. Before he can go in Dr. Stark comes out, carrying a patient file.

There you are," she says. "Thought I'd missed you. We were just going over his results."

Jaime stares at her in disbelief. "I was coming right back. He didn't ask you to wait?"

Dr. Stark stares back, not without sympathy. "No."

Jaime rakes his hand through his hair. "Jesus."

Dr. Stark leads him to a little private sitting room, gestures for him to take a chair. "I'll tell you everything I told your dad. He's going to be fine, as long as we do some intervention."

"Intervention?"

"An angioplasty. It's quite routine, and it should prevent a repeat of the coronary episode. He's agreed to have it tomorrow, get it done quickly."

"Whatever he wants," mutters Jaime. He gets up and starts to leave.

"You're welcome to go in if you'd like," Dr. Stark ventures.

He gives her a wobbly pretense at a smile. "I've got to get back to work."

She blinks at him. "Don't you want to speak with him before the surgery?"

Jaime hands her the cup of coffee. "Just give him this. It's all he wanted from me."

* * *

Jaime sits at his kitchen table at three o’clock in the morning, head in his hands, and stares down at the blank paper before him as he tries to decide how to word what he wants to say.

_I know I haven't written for a while,_ he writes at last. _But I need to tell you about my family._

* * *

_We-- the Lannisters-- are a big name in Westerlands_ , she reads. _Used to be big in all of Westeros, until a few hundred years ago. Old blood and old money, and all the elitism and snobbery that comes with them. No matter what we do, we have to do it better than anyone else. Normal levels of effort and average results are just as bad as slacking off and producing shit._

_My father is an architect. No, he's_ _ the _ _architect, the most famous one alive today, and he expected my brother and I to follow in his footsteps. I was happy to-- I inherited his passion for it-- but my brother Tyrion was happier on the business side of construction than the creation side. The day Tyrion announced he was trading his architecture major for business, my father stopped paying his college tuition and hasn_ _’t spoken to him since._

_I've made my share of small, stupid mistakes in my life. But I've made one huge, epic, massively stupid ultra-mistake. And that was going to architecture school to study under the great Tywin Lannister._

_My father designed the lake house. Everybody said I had his talent. That I should try to learn from the old man. I thought if I followed in his footsteps, that maybe all the anger and mistrust would just... melt away._

_Right._

_Every class became a war zone. Every dispute was inflamed by years of bitterness. Somebody had to surrender. And it wasn't going to be him. So I did it. I quit. And the day I did was the last time he spoke to me. I did okay for a while, but... my mother died when Tyrion was born. My twin sister is an alcoholic, married to an alcoholic, and has some sort of personality disorder too, I think. Tyrion is an alcoholic, too, to cope with the fact that our family is dysfunctional and his only living parent despises him. I don't see him often. That's as much my own fault as it is his._

_And because I'm no more immune to brooding over our father_ _’s treatment than Tyrion is, I bought the house so I could have something of him. Some way to be closer to him, I suppose. Pathetic, I guess._

_So that is why, at the same age when my father was embarking upon a legendary career, I am throwing up condos and living in the old man's house. But he's in the hospital now, after a heart attack, and I'm home, awake in the middle of the night, writing to you._

_I don't know what I was expecting. I guess part of me thought, well, Dad's in a bed in KL General, he's about to have serious surgery, it might go a little bit deeper than 'Should he have decaf instead of regular?_ _’ But of course that's not how things work._

_When I quit school I rejected everything he stood for. That's how he saw it. So buying the house must have seemed like a sick joke to him. Maybe he was right. I don't know and it's too late to change things now. One thing's for sure: if I really was hoping for a tearful bedside reunion. I'm as stupid as he thinks I am._

_Well. I seem to have poured my little heart out here. Sorry. Thanks for reading. I find myself wanting to tell you things I've never told anyone. Things I didn't know myself until I wrote them down to send to you. Maybe that's the strangest part of all of this._

Brienne catches her breath when she sees how he has signed the letter.

_Love, Jaime._

* * *

At work, Brienne ponders what Jaime has told her, and after wibbling over the ethics of it, she decides to do what she wants anyway, and makes her way to patient records, where she requests the chart of Lannister, Tywin.

She spreads it open and begins paging through it. Past test results, etc. She turns a page and stops.

A death certificate.

It is signed by Catelyn Stark. The date given is two years earlier. Place of death: King's Landing General Hospital. Cause: coronary failure during angioplasty surgery.

* * *

Brienne dashes up to Sam Tarly.

"Sam, I've got an emergency," she tells him, her tone urgent. "Take my shift."

His eyebrows fly up. "Right now?"

"I've covered for you at the last minute," she says. " _Please_ , Sam."

He nods, and she runs out the door.

* * *

Her car screeches to a halt in front of the lake house's mailbox. She leaps from it and runs to stuff a note into it, yanking up the flag, then stares at it, breathless.

"Come on," she mutters, bouncing on her toes in agitation. "Come on."

* * *

Jaime drives down the road, away from the lake house, and does not see how the mailbox flag raises up on its own.

* * *

She can see perfectly well that the flag hasn't gone down or up, but opens the box and checks inside over and over. After an hour, knowing it isn't going to happen, she bangs her fist on the mailbox, and frustrated tears roll down her cheeks.

"Goddamn it."

* * *

His phone rings while he's supervising the pouring of concrete into a foundation.

"Mr. Lannister?" asks a female voice when he answers.

"Yes?" He's having trouble hearing over the cement mixer.

"This is Dr. Stark from KL General." She pauses. "I'm afraid I have some difficult news."

* * *

Jaime runs to his truck and drives away much faster than he should, spraying gravel from his tires.

When he returns, much later, he is pale and numb. He sees the flag up on the mailbox and stumbles over to it, retrieving Brienne's note.

_Go back to the hospital right away. Or at least call. Your father will have unforeseen complications and pass away on the operating table._

His hand drops to his side, the note falling from nerveless fingers, as Jaime stares blindly out over the sparkling water of God's Eye. The note, blown by the breeze, flutters away to land in the water beneath the jetty.

* * *

After Tywin's funeral, where he sees Cersei and her children for the first time in years, and is duly ignored by her and Robert and Joffrey (though not by Myrcella and Tommen, thankfully), he arrives home. There's another of Brienne's letters in the mailbox. He takes it out, then goes inside. Feeds Sandy. Goes to open a beer, then decides on a gimlet instead, and takes it to out onto the back deck. He sits and stares at the water for a long time before opening the envelope.

_Jaime,_ he reads, _I am terribly sorry about your father. I knew I had to at least try to warn you. I thought I could get there in time. I hoped we could change what happened. The shock feels fresh to me, even though it happened two years ago, so I can't imagine what it's like for you._

_These things just... happen sometimes. I know. Last February-- I remember it was Valentine's Day, but it was really warm – I was at the fountain in Aegon's Park. And something happened. I won't bore you with the details now, but it was rough. Not like what you're going through, but it bothered me a lot. And a friend gave me some good advice. She said to go somewhere that made me feel most like my true self._

_So I did. I drove to the lake house. And that was the day I got your first letter. It's a place we both love, and it's a place your father built, so I hope you can find some solace there. And I hope that whatever separated you will come to seem less important, and perhaps, in time, disappear._

_Yours, Brienne_

_P.S. About the book._

Book? Jaime goes back to the mailbox and peers inside, and sees that, at the back, hidden in the darkness within due to its black cover, is a hardback book.

Life Works, is the title, and it was written by Tywin Lannister. The publication date is 2014. Jaime looks back down at the letter.

_It won't be published for a year or two,_ continues the postcript. S _o don't show it to anybody. But I thought you should see it._

Jaime notices that Brienne has marked one page toward the back. Jaime turns to it and sees it's the author biography, and along with a details list of all Tywin's accomplishments is a photo. It's of the Lannister family on the jetty of the Lake House. His mother is pregnant with Tyrion, Jaime's hair looks like it was styled with an egg beater, and Cersei hasn't yet acquired that awful sneer that has become her permanent expression in the last two decades of her life.

And their father...

Tywin is _smiling_.

* * *

Jaime stays up all night, getting drunk on gimlets until he runs out of gin, and then drinking the rest of the 24-pack of beer he'd only bought a few days ago. He slumps in his leather chair and flips through the rest of the book. Photos, blueprints, sketches -- an entire lifetime of complex, beautiful work, and Jaime can't help but admire it.

* * *

He enters an art supply store and carefully selects a large sketch pad and some charcoal pencils.

Back home, he sits on the back deck with his feet hanging over the edge into oblivion. The sketch pad is on his lap but he hasn't drawn anything yet. He stares down at the water, then through it, all the way to the bottom.

And begins to draw.

* * *

She opens the envelope and unfolds, not a letter, but a drawing, the artist somehow detailing the ripples and undulations of water over a sandy lake bottom in only subtle shades of charcoal. A slip of paper flutters down, and she realizes it was tucked into the folded sketch.

All it says is, _I want to meet you. For real this time._

* * *

_What do you have in mind_? he reads, and can almost hear the cautious tone of her voice. It makes him grin.

He writes, _Pick a place. I'll be there. I promise. Tomorrow, what do you say? Go to the restaurant tomorrow and I'll be there. I'll be two years older, but I'll be there._

* * *

_It's not tomorrow for you,_ she replies. _Are you sure? You'll have to wait two years. What will you do all that time?_

_I don't care,_ Jaime writes back. _I've never been so sure of anything in my life. I've lost so much time already. I don't want to lose any more with you. I'll wait. I'll spend the time thinking of you. And working out every day, staying in shape, praying I don't lose my hair..._

A silly smiley face was scrawled, and then, _Where would you like to go? See you tomorrow night._

Brienne's hand is trembling when she writes her answer. _See you in two years, then._

* * *

Jaime glances down at a slip of paper in his hand, then back up at the sign over the restaurant storefront, confirming he is at the place where Brienne indicated she wanted to meet: Navar Lenton.

The hostess leafs through the reservation book to the restaurant's earliest opening.

"We just received our fourth star and a table any time in the next six months will be difficult. When were you hoping to dine with us?"

He smiles. "September 15, 2014."

She blinks at him, surprised, before her professional demeanor has her squaring her shoulders and paging forward to that date. "We... should be able to accommodate you, sir."

* * *

Brienne is late leaving for work, having to resuscitate a patient before she can go. She saves him, but begins cursing under her breath from the moment she leaves KL General until she arrives at her apartment. Sandy watches, curious, as she runs around getting ready.

She almost slips in the shower, despairs of her hair being frizzy due to the humid weather before coaxing her bangs to fall in an angular swoop down one cheek and pinning the other side back with a blue-jeweled pin. She wears a tuxedo-cut pantsuit in dark teal with a silky camisole and no bra, red lipstick, and kitten heels that won't make her tower over Jaime _too_ badly.

As she runs out the door to the cab waiting for her, she thinks, _He's waited two years. What's another half-hour? Right_?

At the restaurant, she stops for a moment before going in, to collect herself and calm her breathing and make sure she doesn't look like a crazy person. Checks her reflection in the window. Throws back her shoulders and enters.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. I have a reservation. Tarth. Or Lannister, I'm not sure which name it's under."

The beautiful, glamorous hostess examines her book. "You're the... Yes! Oh!" She pauses and composes herself. "Please follow me."

Brienne is shown to a table for two. It's empty. She is a little surprised.

"I hope you'll forgive me, but I can't help asking..." begins the hostess, looking a little... shy?

"...Yes?"

"This reservation is sort of... legendary," says the hostess eagerly. "It's been here longer than most of the staff. There's always been intense speculation about who made it, and why, and if you'd actually show up. Some of the crew even have bets going..."

Brienne looks around. Waiters all over the room are sneaking glances at her. Chefs and busboys are peering out from behind the kitchen door. Brienne suddenly feels very self-conscious.

The hostess notices. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I'll send the waiter for your drink order right away."

Brienne sits. Almost immediately, a waiter arrives and pours Brienne a glass of champagne.

"Complimentary," he tells her.

"Thank you."

The waiter bites his lip, then grins. "Good luck." He darts away.

She sips the champagne, nervous.

* * *

It's been an hour. Her glass is empty. She is still waiting, alone at the table. The waiter comes over to refill her glass, but Brienne stops him. She is aware that the restaurant staff is watching her, whispering to one another. The hostess shoos them away and gives her a pitying look.

* * *

It's been three hours. Other diners are lingering over dessert, coffee, chatting intimately across the candlelit tables. Brienne still is alone. After a long moment she pushes her chair back and gets up. Everyone is watching her, grave.

She makes her way to the front, expressionless. She collects her coat, not speaking to anyone, and leaves. The hostess watches her go with huge, sad eyes.

Brienne walks home, alone. The stoic facade she'd managed in the restaurant begins to crumble, and tears roll down her cheeks.

In her apartment, she takes off the pantsuit and hangs it up in the farthest, most remote corner of her closet, then changes to sweatpants and a ratty sweater before grabbing her keys and whistling for Sandy to follow, then goes to her car.

* * *

A windy, gray day on the lake. Jaime stands at the mailbox, reading the words, _You weren't there._

He frowns in confusion.

"I'm sorry," he says aloud, though only Sandy is there, pissing on a nearby shrub. Jaime plucks a pen from behind his ear and turns her letter over.

_I don't understand,_ he writes. _Something must have happened. There's no other way I wouldn't have been there. I've got two years. I'll try to fix it. Let's try again._

* * *

Her face is red and puffy as she reads his scrawled response, because she cried the entire drive from King's Landing to the lake house. As she reads Jaime's message, the tears start up again.

_You don't understand,_ she writes _. It's too late_. _It already happened. I feel so stupid, for forgetting how much a person's life can change in two years. And for expecting yours not to change. For expecting you to wait, to run in place, to put your life on hold, for me._

* * *

Jaime throws stones into the lake, frustrated, after reading her reply. When his temper is back under control, he writes, _But I can do it. I can wait for you_. _I know I can. I wouldn't just forget this. I wouldn't just forget you. I wouldn't. Something happened to prevent me from being there, I know it._

* * *

_Maybe something did happen. Or maybe you did forget._

She wipes her eyes with the cuff of her sweater.

_Maybe wherever you are 'now,' you're busy, and happy, and living so fully in the present that the dinner date you made two years ago just slipped your mind. The way we forget impossible fantasies when we outgrow them, when we get on with our real lives._

* * *

_Are you saying I should get on with my real life?_

* * *

_I'm saying I think we both should._

* * *

Jaime reads the last line over, alarmed.

_Don't do this,_ he writes. _There's something here, between us. Something so special that it has us reaching across time to each other. Please, don't do this._

Jaime puts his letter in the mailbox and raises the flag. It stays up. He opens it; his letter is still inside.

He waits.

And waits.

An hour turns into three. Sandy starts to grumble about being hungry and wanting to sleep somewhere more comfortable than the driveway.

Jaime checks back the next morning, but his letter is still there.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Jaime broods over Brienne's last letter. He has taken to carrying it with him everywhere, and feels pretty pathetic about that. He pretends not to notice Ros at her desk, with her stares of longing she thinks she's hiding better than she is. He likes her, she's beautiful and sexy and fun.

But she's not Brienne.

Jaime keeps writing letters, even when they never get removed from the mailbox.

They're never answered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end! Thanks to everyone who has read this, and twice as many thanks to those who have commented! I'm very pleased y'all enjoyed my little adaptation for our guy and gal. 
> 
> Please join me in a few weeks for more Braime goodness, when I start publishing Shoot the Moon. I've added some out-takes from it in the end note, to wet your whistles for it :)

She's making a concerted effort to be sociable, to create a life for herself in King's Landing, to make friends and get out and do things. Tonight, she has agreed to getting dinner and drinks with the other doctors at the Dragon Pit, and they're all talking and laughing so loudly that she only notices she has missed a call when she leaves the noisy dining room to use the quieter bathroom.

"Hey, Bri," Hyle says into her voicemail. "I'm in King's Landing. Had to come over for a meeting."

Brienne starts to press 'delete'.

"A real one this time," Hyle continues. "I swear."

She hesitates.

"Call me." He pauses. "But only if you feel like it."

* * *

Brienne and Hyle eat in the pizza place they wound up in before. They seem more or less at ease with each other.

"I didn't think you'd come out," he says.

"Don't take it personally," Brienne replies.

"You just couldn't say no to the free meal?"

She grins. "Exactly." He laughs. "So. How'd your 'meeting' go?"

He laughs again. "I told you. I didn't make it up, it really happened."

"Prove it."

"They offered me a job." Brienne's eyebrows lift in surprise. "Big telecom company. I'm gonna be in-house counsel." He smiles. "Call them, if you don't believe me."

* * *

"You're selling the Harrenhal place? When?" she asks, still disbelieving that he'd do such a thing. He'd always bragged about never living anywhere but his hometown, ever.

"Right away." Hyle sees her severe look and hurries to continue. "I took the job because I wanted the it, Bri. It just happened to be in King's Landing. It's no ambush." He stops, looking sheepish. "This time."

She nods slowly, deciding to believe him. "And the man swore he'd never leave his hometown."

He shrugs. "People change."

They arrive at her building. Brienne turns to him, steadfastly ignoring the leafy branches of Jaime's tree rustling overhead.

"Well, it's great news. Congratulations, Hyle. I'm really happy for you." She smiles at him, and realizes she means it.

He smiles back. "Thanks. Thanks for coming out."

"Anytime." They keep smiling at each other until Brienne, fed up with the awkwardness, leans in and kisses him goodnight, briefly. Hyle's surprised and pleased.

She looks at him, at the gleam of his brown eyes in the darkness. It's comfortable, familiar. Jaime's tree, behind Hyle, sways in the night air. Brienne glances at it, then closes her eyes and draws Hyle to her for another kiss.

* * *

Jaime comes home, tired and cold after working outside in the snow all day. The water around the jetty has frozen solid. Walking by the mailbox on the way inside, he can't resist checking, and sees all the letters he had written, still jammed in there. He scowls and slams it shut.

* * *

Jaime knocks on a door, which swings open to reveal Ros, looking surprised.

"What's the matter? Is there a problem at the site?"

He smiles. "No, no problem."

She relaxes and leans against the door jamb, seemingly unbothered by the chill. "So what are you doing here?"

He steps forward and kisses her. She returns it, eager, and pulls him inside.

"What took you so damn long?" she whispers against his lips.

He closes the door and kisses her again.

* * *

When he gets home the next day, Sandy is nowhere to be found, though Jaime knows he left the dog securely locked in the house the previous night.

He roams the shore from the beach to the south almost all the way to Harrenhal to the north, calling for Sandy. A twig snaps, and Jaime peers into the distant trees to see the dog standing there, alert, staring right at him.

"Sandy!" he calls in relief, and starts toward him, but the dog runs away, seeming to disappear into thin air. Jaime begins to run after him, and then stops, realization dawning on his face of what he's done, and what he's lost.

* * *

By the time Ros arrives for work the next day, Jaime's already there, nearly finished clearing out his desk. She stares at him, but he doesn't look up until he's done and the box is closed.

"We're on schedule. We're ahead, even. The crew knows the job backward and forwards. It would take a major earthquake for you not to finish on time, and you're not going to have a major earthquake."

"How do you know that?" she asks, her face stiff.

"I just know." He can't prevent a faint smile. "I've got to go."

He's almost out the door when she asks, plaintively, "Is it the job? Or is it me?"

"Neither. I'm sorry, Ros."

"I don't get it," she persists. "Why now? Why the day after we..."

Jaime grimaces, never intending to make her feel like he'd used her. "It's just time. You... you helped me realize it. I'm grateful for that."

"Well, shit, Jaime," she huffs, and sits down, unhappy. She suddenly grabs her boots and yanks them off. "These were so fucking uncomfortable."

She throws them at him. He dodges, smiling. She can't help smiling back.

* * *

Jaime methodically and determinedly packs up the lake house. He puts together cardboard boxes and throws his possessions in. He bags garbage and sweeps and mops. He goes out to the mailbox and removes all the letters that have been moldering in there for months. He looks at each one as he places them in a milk crate, then carries it into the attic.

* * *

On his way out of town, Jaime stops by Hyle's storefront law office. Hyle looks up when the bell over the door rings. He recognizes Jaime from the party, and doesn't look happy to see him.

"Still want to rent a lake house?" Jaime asks him, and tosses him the keys. "It's what Brienne wants."

Hyle looks stony. He throws them back. "How the hell do you know?"

Jaime steps closer, and hands him the keys. "Trust me. She does."

They eye each other, more like boxers about to throw down than anything else. Hyle gives him a short nod. Jaime nods back, and leaves.

As he drives out of Harrenhal, he thinks he catches a glimpse of tangled fur at the edge of town where the buildings meet the woods.

 _Sorry, Sandy,_  he thinks.

* * *

It's winter. Bronn helps Jaime unloads his truck- they're going to share Bronn's ramshackle King's Landing apartment in Flea Bottom.

* * *

Hyle moves into Brienne's small apartment, unpacking. To clear space in her closet for his clothes, she goes through her own things for garments to donate or discard. She comes across the suit she wore to meet Jaime and almost tosses it into the 'discard' box, then hovers it over the 'donate' box before finally sighing and hanging it back up behind everything else.

Hyle enters the room with an arm-load of clothes and begins to hang them up. Their eyes meet. He kisses her. She smiles.

* * *

Bronn graduates with his doctorate as Jaime and Tyrion look on with pride.

When classes start up the following semester, Jaime is among the students.

* * *

Brienne's at an upscale New Year's Eve party, bored while Hyle jokes with a group of smug, annoying lawyers. The clock in Baelor's bell tower strikes midnight and everyone cheers happily. She has to drag her attention from the fireworks exploding over the Red Keep when Hyle turns to her for a kiss.

* * *

Jaime's at a New Year's Eve party populated mostly by scruffy students. At midnight, everyone embraces. Bronn and the closest woman fling themselves at each other. Tyrion is in a liplock with an exotic-looking brunette. Jaime, alone, looks out the window as fireworks go off in the distance.

* * *

Jaime walks down the street toward the architecture school, a portfolio under his arm. It's cold, and he pulls his scarf- Brienne's gift- tighter around his neck. A brownstone row house is for sale on the Street of the Sisters.

 _Run-down, but has good bones,_  he thinks as he passes it. Just needed the right person to see its potential.

* * *

She and Hyle walk up the front steps of a brownstone row house with a FOR SALE sign in front. The house is empty, a solid old place, but badly in need of renovation. They walk through the echoing rooms.

"What do you think?" Brienne asks him, her eyes bright and eager.

"This is what I gave up lunch for?" is his sour response.

Her hopeful look fades. "I know it needs some work," she mutters.

"It needs a  _lot_  of work," he corrects.

"I found an architect who specializes in renovations," Brienne says, her tone carefully modulated to hide her frustration and growing irritation. "I made an appointment for tomorrow."

He looks at her. "Ambush."

She offers him the most innocent smile she can muster. "We can't stay in my apartment. It's been almost a year. I want to keep moving forward."

He sighs, but nods.

* * *

Jaime comes home with Tyrion in tow. Bronn, wearing a coat and tie, is slumped on the couch. He looks discouraged.

"How'd it go today?" Jaime asks, but thinks he already knows.

"No one's hiring," grumbles Bronn. "Or at least no one's hiring a cunt like me."

"Give it some time?" advises Tyrion as he rifles through the sheaf of take-out menus scattered over the coffee table.

"I _have_ given it time," Bronn snaps.

"Stop being a cunt?" is Jaime's suggestion. Bronn just glares at him. "Or," Jaime continues, "wait, and as soon as I graduate, we start the firm. Remember? Visionary Vanguards?"

"You two handle the design and construction, I handle the business and publicity," says Tyrion, waving the Pentoshi menu to indicate his preference for the night. "We'll make a killing."

Bronn twists his mouth, skeptical, but nods.

* * *

It's late, but Jaime is still bent over his drawing board, working intently.

Bronn passes the open doorway and looks in. "All-nighter?"

Jaime looks up, self-conscious. "Oh. No. This is just... my own thing."

Bronn moves to look at the drawing board. Jaime tries to hide it.

"Let me see."

"It's nothing."

"I will gut you from throat to bollocks if you don't let me see."

Jaime relents and shoves it toward his friend. It's the lake house, but re-imagined. There are stairs curving down to the water from the back deck, exactly like what Jaime described to Brienne once in a letter. There are trees planted along the jetty, and lights glowing in the trees. The house is just as striking as before, but much less stark. Much warmer. Romantic, even.

"I like it," says Bronn.

Jaime blinks, surprised. "You do? I didn't think you'd approve." When Bronn shoots him a look, he grins. "No turrets, no crenelations, no arrow slits or postern doors. Not a single murder hole!"

Bronn sucks his teeth dismissively. "I do like it, this way. The old house is a place you go to be alone. This one, you bring somebody to." Jaime says nothing, just nods, and there must be something in his face, because Bronn peers closer before saying, "Who is she?"

Jaime doesn't answer right away. His lips shape the name, but no sound comes out. Finally, he manages to say, "Brienne. Her name is Brienne."

"When you were living there?" Bronn asks. Jaime nods. "I knew it. What happened?"

"I lost her." Jaime doesn't know how else to put it. Bronn looks quizzically at him, so he continues, "It's hard to explain. Mostly it was... bad timing."

"But you miss her."

Jaime can only nod.

"So get her back."

"It's too late," Jaime murmurs. "Or too early. One of the two."

"What?"

"Nothing." Jaime shakes his head. "I don't even know where she is, now. Even if I did, I can't just walk up to her and say, 'Hey, here I am, let's pick up where we left off.' "

Bronn shrugs one wiry shoulder. "What have you got to lose? If you want her, go get her."

* * *

There are still boxes everywhere from moving into the brownstone a week earlier, but Brienne's too tired after a double shift to deal with them. Hyle is buried under piles of work while Brienne slumps on the sofa, clicking through channels on the TV. She comes across a station showing the Grant/Bergman kiss from  _Notorious_. She leaves it on that channel, smiling faintly as she watches.

"Ugh, this again?" Hyle complains when he notices. "Could you turn that down a little, babe?"

Brienne clicks off the TV, annoyed, and leaves him in the living room to go into the bedroom alone.

As she walks in, a floorboard squeaks. She stops, then tests it with her toe. It squeaks again. She bends down to examine it, and finds that it lifts up quite easily. To her surprise, there's a space underneath. Brienne pulls the floorboard back, sees something in the space revealed, and reaches down into it.

She pulls out a package wrapped tight in dusty plastic. She opens it and finds it's a copy of Persuasion. She inhales sharply in surprise. She opens the cover to the title page and sees her own name written there, in her own writing.

It's her book.

The one Jaime never returned to her.

Her heart starts to pound.

A page is marked by a post-it note, so she turns to it. One sentence is underlined.

"There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison."

She stares at it, her breath catching in her throat, and her heart gives a single hard beat.

* * *

It's an overcast winter day, but Brienne is excited as she waits in the cold outside a converted loft building. Hyle arrives and they go in together. As they do, they pass a sign with a logo that consists of two intertwined Vs.

Inside, the offices look sort of makeshift. Hyle looks around.

"It's a new firm," she says defensively.

"I'm sure they're very good," he says, but it sounds patronizing.

She takes a deep breath and hands him a card. "While we're waiting... Happy Valentine's."

His eyes widen in alarm. "Bri. Oh, God. I didn't get you anything- I've been so swamped-"

She swallows, averts her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

A door opens and a man- a little person- comes in. He's nattily dressed in a custom suit and offers them a professional smile.

"Welcome to Visionary Vanguards," he says. "The architect got held up at another meeting, but he just arrived and will be right in."

"It's fine," Brienne says automatically, while Hyle compresses his mouth and looks away. After a few minutes, the door opens again.

"Dr. Tarth?" says the man, smiling. "I think you'll like what I've come up with."

* * *

Bronn and Jaime leave their apartment building in their winter coats. Bronn's dressed for another job interview, while Jaime is more casual in a sweater and jeans and boots for school. As they emerge out onto the street, they realize it is surprisingly warm.

"What is this?" Jaime says with a laugh, peering skyward.

Bronn shrugs. "Global warming?"

Jaime and Bronn open their coats as they walk in the warm weather.

"You want to grab a beer after your interview later?" asks Jaime.

"Can't," Bronn replies. "Taking Talisa out for Valentine's."

Jaime keeps going for a few more steps. Then he stops. "What? It's Valentine's Day?"

"Why? Is that strange?" Bronn frowns. "I'm not much good at this romantic shite. Should we stay in, instead?"

Jaime looks around, taking in the unusually warm day, and how so many people are outside enjoying the sunshine. He turns back to Bronn, a strange look on his face. "What is the date?"

Bronn stares at him. "Are you stupid? I just said it's Valentine's Day. You know that means it's February 14."

"February 14," Jaime repeats slowly. "2014."

"Yeeesssss," says Bronn, equally slowly. "What is the matter with you?"

"She told me about today." He looks around, a little dazed, before meeting Bronn's confused eyes.

"Who? You mean that girl?"

"Brienne! Yes!" Excitement unfurls in Jaime's stomach. "There's a letter that says where she's going to be."

"She wrote to you?"

"Yeah. I could... I could see her today." He swallows hard. "You said it last night- what have I got to lose?"

"Just your dignity and self-respect," says Bronn, "and you don't have much of those to begin with." He grunts when Jaime punches him, none too gently, in the shoulder. "Ow. What are you waiting for?"

Jaime begins running back down the street toward their apartment building. "I've just got to find the letter!"

* * *

They examine sketches for the remodeling. Hyle looks unhappy.

"... so that's basically what we're picturing," Bronn concludes.

"It's kind of... out there, isn't it?" hedges Hyle.

Bronn glances at him, faint surprise on his face. "This is the direction Brienne said she was looking toward in her email."

I think it's great," she says stoutly. "I love it." Hyle glares at her. She glares back.

Their meeting concluding, Brienne and Hyle shake hands with Bronn.

"Well, terrific," he says. "We'll draw up some preliminary blueprints and go from there."

"Great!" says Brienne, enthusiastic.

"So, how long have you lived in King's Landing?" Bronn asks while walking them out, making small talk.

"Well, I've been here about two years," Brienne begins.

As they walk, they pass a series of framed pictures on the wall. Brienne notices several photos of crumbling old castles like Dragonstone and Winterfell... and then, Jaime's painstaking drawing of the renovated lake house. Brienne doesn't recognize it at first.

* * *

Jaime rummages madly through his things. He can't find Brienne's letters anywhere. Then he remembers where they are and runs from the room. The lake house sketch he did flutters from his drawing board to the floor in his wake.

* * *

Brienne and Hyle pull their coats on, preparing to leave, but Brienne suddenly freezes when she catches sight of the drawing again. She slowly crosses the room, mesmerized, until she's standing in front of it. She freezes there, absolutely riveted, not speaking.

"Bri?" prompts Hyle, approaching, irritated that she's delaying his return to work.

"What is this?" she asks, her voice soft.

Bronn clears his throat. "This? Uh, this was done by a friend of mine."

"Jaime Lannister," she states, knowing it for a certainty, and can't halt the smile that breaks free.

"Yes." He stares at her. "Did you... did you know him?"

She clears her throat of the lump that has formed there. Is this a sign that it's finally time for them to meet?

"Yes. He- where is he? Do you know how I could get in touch with him?"

Bronn's face contorts for a moment. "I'm sorry. You don't know?"

Brienne has seen that expression before. It's the one she presents to the families and friends of patients who have passed away, when she has to reveal the bad news. "Know what?" she asks anyway.

"He died. Two years ago." He watches, blue eyes keen, missing nothing as she sways on her feet. He blinks as he realizes something. "Two years ago today, actually. There was an accident..."

Her lungs have seized. She has to concentrate on breathing or she won't do it. Already, little silvery dots are clouding the edges of her vision. She whispers, "Where?"

* * *

It has begun to rain. Uncaring, Brienne runs out of the building and to her car.

Hyle is behind her, bewildered, trying to keep up. "Brienne! Wait! What's going on?"

"It's an emergency."

"Are you going to the hospital?"

She looks at him. She touches his face, gently. "No... I'm sorry." She kisses him quickly, upset clear on her face, then jumps into her car and races away. Hyle watches her go, baffled.

* * *

Jaime drives west out of the city. The sun is bright, and he puts on sunglasses. He's eager, happy, and accelerates to pass slower traffic.

* * *

Brienne drives west out of the city, frantic. Rain pounds onto her windshield as she weaves in and out of lanes, passing cars, driving recklessly. She swipes at her wet cheeks, but her sleeves are wet, too, and she only smears the rain and tears around.

* * *

Jaime pulls up outside the lake house. It's shut, empty. No one has lived there since Brienne moved out. He runs across the jetty and unlocks the front door.

* * *

Brienne arrives at the lake house. Her car skids to a stop in the wet gravel in front of the mailbox. She pulls out a pad and begins writing, desperately.

* * *

Jaime climbs the ladder up to the attic. Inside is the single box he stored there when he moved out. He tears the box open and rummages through the bundles of their letters. He shuffles through them, and finds the one he's looking for and reads it.

 _Last February,_  she had written,  _I remember it was Valentine's Day, but it was really warm – I was at the fountain in Aegon's Park._

Jaime grins. "Aegon's Park. The fountain."

* * *

Brienne begins her lunch hour in Aegon's Park, approaching the fountain, on this unusually warm Valentine's Day. She squints into the sunlight gleaming off the water in the fountain. A pair of old men complain on a nearby bench.

"What's with the damn weather?" one of them gripes. "60 degrees on Valentine's Day!"

"It's global warming," says the other sagely.

* * *

Jaime can see the fountain from inside his truck. He drives down Sowbelly Row, looking for a parking space. He eventually finds one and jumps out, then starts to jog toward the park.

He halts, stopped by two lanes of impenetrable traffic in front of him. He searches in the distance, looking for Brienne beyond the lines of vehicles, among the crowds in the park, and finally spots her- a distant figure, distinctively tall, walking on the far side of the fountain. He smiles.

There's finally a break in the traffic. Jaime has a clear view of Brienne straight ahead of him, and steps off the curb, his anticipation so keen he doesn't notice a bus turning off the Street of Looms and heading right for him.

* * *

Brienne writes frantically, barely able to see through her tears, straining to be legible enough for him to read the words.

_I know now that it was you at the fountain that day. It was you at the park. Please don't go. Something terrible happens if you do._

_Please don't look for me. Don't try to find me. Don't run to me. Do you understand? Please. You have to wait._

_Forget everything I said before. We both have to wait. There's no rush._

_If you love me- and I love you, Jaime, I do, it has taken me all this time to say it but I do love you- wait for me. Wait_ _with_   _me. Wait until time catches up with both of us and we can be together. Don't rush._

 _Please, Jaime. I love you. We'll find another way._ _Please just wait_ _._

She jumps out of the car. She shoves it into the mailbox and raises the flag. She stands there, practically hugging the box, rain soaking her.

"Wait," she whispers desperately. "Wait, Jaime, just wait."

The seconds pass. The flag remains upright. Brienne breaks down and starts to sob. Finally, stricken, grieving, she realizes she is too late. She scrubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands and turns to go.

But.

She can't resist one last glance at the mailbox.

* * *

Brienne's attention is caught by the scream of brakes from Sowbelly Row, and she looks over to see some idiot stepping back out of traffic, narrowly avoiding a grim fate as road pizza. She's glad, more to have her lunch hour uninterrupted than because he wasn't hurt, and smirks in derision at how jaded she has become.

She bites into her sandwich.

* * *

The bus passes harmlessly in front of him. He looks at Brienne's letter in his hand, at the words  _I love you. We'll find another way._ _Please just wait_ , and smiles.

He looks across the street, into the park, as Brienne checks her phone. She stands, tossing her sandwich wrapper into a nearby trash can, and heads quickly back toward the hospital. Jaime wants, desperately, to step off the curb again and run to her.

But he doesn't.

He folds the letter, putting it in his pocket, and slowly, with great difficulty, turns and walks back to his car.

* * *

Brienne stands there until the rain stops, shaking from cold, from fear, from hope. She holds onto the mailbox, the only thing keeping her upright at this point. She pries her hands off the box and takes an unsteady step back, almost falling when she steps into a rut.

But a hand is there to catch her by the elbow, and she looks up to find Jaime there.

Gaping, she can only stare, unable to process what she's seeing. Jaime is two years older than when she met him at Hyle's party, has grown a beard since then, but mostly unchanged. He stands quietly, looking at her, and then holds out the now-worn letter, yellowed and dog-eared, that she only shoved into the mailbox a little while earlier. They just look at each other.

Brienne's breath eases, her pulse calms, her tears dry. " _Jaime_."

His smile is tender, is loving, is beautiful. "Have we waited long enough, wench?"

She stares at him for a moment more, trying to convince herself this is real, and then whispers, "Yes."

Heedless of how drenched she is, Jaime tugs her close and kisses her.

It is perfect.

When he pulls back, he smiles again, then takes her by the shoulders and turns her to face the house.

Brienne gasps.

It has been transformed. In the two years that have passed in Jaime's life- the life she saved- he has made all the changes to the house that he had dreamed of. It's now his drawing come to life – the warm, romantic house with the stairs to the water that he'd described to her, and the trees planted along the jetty, and the lights lit and glowing in the deepening dusk.

She laughs, astonished, and he grins, taking her hands and kissing each palm. She places them along his face and kisses him, this time.  _I_ _'m home_.

Jaime wraps an arm around her waist and nuzzles his nose against her ear as he leads her slowly across the jetty and toward their house together.

* * *

Down the lake shore, Melisandre emerges from the trees, naked. She gives a delicate shiver and starts to pull her clothes back on. She smiles in satisfaction, and walks back toward town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the snippets from Shoot the Moon:
> 
> * * *
> 
> “When I give you an order, you will obey it,” he snarled. 
> 
> Her expression transformed from mere disdain to absolute contempt in the space of a heartbeat. “The hell I will,” she snarled back. “Not if your orders are stupid and will end up in someone getting killed.”
> 
> “I was trying to prevent anyone from getting killed!”
> 
> “How, by bending the laws of physics? Because that would be the only way your little plan to save us all would have worked.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> “Ms. Tarth,” Tyrion said in a conciliatory tone, “I’m very sorry for whatever my brother— this fool— might have done or said that was offensive. I promise you, it will not happen again. We are not in the business of alienating our guests.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> Pod looked terrified, but Sandor had a speculative look on his ravaged face as he watched Sansa disappear through the door. 
> 
> “Think I’m in love,” he said, and followed her to the dining room.
> 
> * * *
> 
> “New book?”
> 
> Brienne was exquisitely conscious of the men present, and how they all shifted their attention to her at Sansa’s words. “Yes,” she murmured, and took a bite.
> 
> “Who are you killing this time?” asked Arianne. Her dark eyes were amused over the rim of her juice glass.
> 
> “A cowboy,” Brienne murmured, smiling down at her plate, and laughter sprang up around the table. She steadfastly did not look in Jaime’s direction.
> 
> * * *
> 
> He jogged after her. “I’m willing to entertain the notion that I may, possibly, have been a jerk to you when we first met.”
> 
> She slanted him a glare of pure hostility as they entered the stables. “Can you half-ass that a little more? It wasn’t quite non-committal enough.”
> 
> “Okay, fine,” he repeated. “I absolutely was a jerk to you when we first met.”
> 
> She hmphed and went to Delaney’s stall, opening the door and leading the mare out to be saddled. “You were an absolute, colossal dickbag.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> “I’ll get you for this, wench,” he muttered under his breath as she passed him to leave the room.
> 
> “You can try.” She meant it to sound challenging, but something happened to the words on their way out, and instead they sounded sultry. Beckoning. Like she was _urging_ him to try.
> 
> * * *
> 
> “I’m not going to hurt you,” he found himself saying, because it felt important she know that she had nothing to fear from him.
> 
> The soft, confused set of her face went rigid in a second’s passing, and her eyes hardened until they glistened like stones. “You already have,” Brienne told him.


End file.
